


Infinite Starlight

by dk323



Category: Dark Is Rising Sequence - Susan Cooper, Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, M/M, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-30
Updated: 2016-09-30
Packaged: 2018-08-18 11:26:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 46,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8160485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dk323/pseuds/dk323
Summary: In the present day, Merlin lives in New York City. He knows that the person he needs to bring Arthur back is in New York. But bringing about Arthur’s return becomes complicated with an incarnation of Morgana all too ready to stop Merlin.
When the memory of losing Kara on Arthur’s orders isn’t enough, Morgana’s incarnation resorts to a sinister plan to insure Mordred’s incarnation kills the Once and Future King again.
Merlin can only pray that Ciaran, the current incarnation of Mordred and one he has raised since infancy, won’t turn into an unwitting pawn in Morgana’s game.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings:** Mention of a past sexual assault (happening to a OC) -- only discussed, not happening on-screen
> 
> **Disclaimer:** The show and its characters are property of the BBC and Shine. The Dark is Rising Sequence book series (particularly involving The Grey King and Silver on the Tree books) is property of Susan Cooper. The show, Forever, is property of Warner Bros. Television. Harry Potter is the property of J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. (Due to HP references being made, but no HP characters appear). No copyright infringement intended.
> 
> **Author's notes:** Thank you to the organizers of this challenge: Kitty_Fic and K_nightfox. You’ve put together a great Big Bang.
> 
> Thank you to my artist, Digthewriter, for the beautiful artwork. I enjoyed seeing some scenes from my fic come to life. I had a great time working with you.
> 
> Thank you to Jenrose1 – you’ve been a great beta. I appreciate your thorough work. Thank you for your helpful suggestions. 
> 
> Also thank you to Schweet_Heart for your help as a beta. I really appreciate your willingness to look over the story. Your enthusiasm for the fic motivated me in the final stretch as I finished writing it.
> 
> And thank you to the support community, Camladerie, for giving me motivation to work on the story.
> 
> Lastly, it’s been a few years since I’ve participated in a Merlin Big Bang (last time was 2013). I’ve participated in two Merlin Big Bangs before this one, and I’ve inserted the character of Bran in all of them – now including this one. Somehow I just can’t help but find a place for him.
> 
> But this story, Infinite Starlight, is different since I finally have Bran with his characterization from The Dark is Rising series. The other stories I had given him a different backstory. 
> 
> For this story, I decided it was fitting to keep Bran’s characterization (King Arthur’s son brought forward in time as a baby and who grew up in rural Wales) from the book series. Since he and Mordred’s incarnation interact heavily, the potential for conflict was hard not to explore.
> 
> **~~~ Check out the art masterpost ~~~** [Art Post link - take a look, leave some love :-) ](http://digthewriter.dreamwidth.org/15288.html)

** **

 

**June 2016**

 

The antiques shop. That’s where Merlin knew he needed to be. And finally, after such a long time, Merlin could see the light at the end of the tunnel. Or, really, a new beginning with Arthur by his side.

On the northeast corner of Suffolk and Stanton streets, the shop went by the name of Abe’s Antiques. The man he needed lived here in the apartment above the store. But so early in the afternoon, Merlin doubted he would find him, this Henry Morgan. He would be at work. Yet he had gotten a feeling, his magic warning him, that Merlin must be here at this time. He wasn’t completely sure why, but he feared it wasn’t anything good.

With Morgana’s recent arrival in New York, Merlin had been left uneasy.

Merlin approached the door, reaching out his hand to grab the door handle. Abruptly, he pulled his hand back, hissing. Merlin bit his lip to stop himself from crying out in pain. The handle was hot, so hot that the palm of his hand—where his skin had made contact with the handle—was left with a second degree burn, down to the dermis. The pain was excruciating, but he had suffered worse in his long life. It would take a focused concentration of magic to heal his hand. Focus he couldn’t manage standing here, senses on alert, as he waited for the other shoe to drop.

Merlin heard Morgana before he saw her.

“Feeling like a failure, Merlin? Is that why you moved here, what, twenty years ago? Nineteen? Couldn’t get your precious King back? Ready to give up?”

He turned to face her, catching her smirk. Morgana looked nothing like the sorceress she’d been in the days of Camelot. Here, she was wearing a brightly coloured wrap dress, stilettos on her feet and her dark hair shorter and looking like she’d been to the stylist recently. A small black studded purse hung by the handle from her forearm.

“I’m flattered you would stalk me. I’m sure you have better things to do.”

“Hmm yes. Ensuring my dearly departed half-brother stays where he belongs.”

Merlin gave her a blank look, not wanting to take the bait. Especially in the middle of the day where other people were giving them odd looks. Probably Morgana calling him “Merlin” didn’t help. Who would name their child that after all?

“I suggest you leave, Morgana. Your trick on the handle won’t stop me from entering the store.”

She smiled. “I agree. I don’t think it will. But this might,” Morgana finished off with a whisper.

Opening up her purse, Morgana took out something, concealed by her hand so Merlin couldn’t see.

Merlin barely had the time to even consider escaping as the shop, Abe’s Antiques, exploded before his eyes.

He heard shocked screams from those nearby, others who were too close to the blast cried out in agony.

Fortunately, his magic acted instinctively. An invisible shield formed around him, protecting him from being struck by the fire, glass shards and other debris. He knew he couldn’t heal people’s wounds, not completely, as that would appear too suspicious. Merlin settled for a quick spell to ease their pain, to heal their injuries just enough so that they would be all right until paramedics came.

“You can’t save everyone,” Morgana told him with a cruel smile.

Merlin glared at her.

“The store owner was inside. I imagine Henry Morgan won’t be interested in helping you after losing his son. Maybe you can find another immortal with what you need,” she said, looking amused.

Merlin inhaled but it didn’t seem to help he wasn’t getting enough oxygen into his body. The pain in his burned hand lingered, deep and insidious, but he was glad for it— a reminder him that he was alive, that he was human, and that any pain—no matter how great—would subside.

He watched as ambulances, sirens blaring, came down to provide medical aid to the victims. Merlin stayed back, watching the terrible scene from across the street. He wanted to help more, but the thought that someone was most certainly dead, someone who Henry Morgan cared about, paralysed him. He had a son of his own, adopted as Henry’s was, and he couldn’t bear the possibility of his son dying.

“I will stop you, Morgana. I have once before, I will again.”

“Good luck with that. If I find an immortal who has what you want, I’ll call you.” Morgana said flippantly, grinning at him as she walked away.

“Go to hell,” he muttered under his breath.

Merlin left the scene, hands in his pockets, head down, as he made his exit. He had to go home to heal the burn on his hand.

He wouldn’t be much use to anyone if he let it fester.

~ * ~

“Are you all right?” his son, Ciaran, asked him.

Merlin sighed. “In time, I’m sure I will be.”

“What happened?” Ciaran asked.

Merlin sat down, feeling exhausted, but he still set about using his magic to repair his hand. He wanted nothing more than sleep, but sleep would be impossible without healing.

He studied Ciaran, who resembled Mordred almost to perfection. Morgana wasn’t going to stop until she made Merlin completely miserable. He grimly accepted that with this latest move by Morgana, it was one step closer to the day when Ciaran would remember the grim past, despite Merlin’s best efforts..

Would being a father to him since he was a baby be enough? Enough to counter the darkness Ciaran would remember in his old life as Mordred? The darkness that led him to ally with Morgana and kill Arthur?

Merlin wanted to be optimistic. He wanted to believe it was enough. But with Morgana around, he feared what she might try to do. It seemed likely she’d attempt to enlist her old ally, no matter what that did to the boy he was now. .

“My plan hit a speed bump. I don’t know if I’ll be able to make it work, now.”

He peered closely at his hand, calling up his magic to start the healing process.

“So you can’t bring King Arthur back from Avalon?”

Merlin gave him a small, reassuring smile.

“For now at least. I need to reconsider how to approach the situation. I don’t want anyone to get hurt, but I also don’t want anyone getting in my way.”

“Who died?”

“The son of the man I need to speak with. Morgana came and set fire to his shop, Abe’s Antiques. And he was inside.” Merlin studied Ciaran’s face, looking for any sign of recognition. Mentioning Morgana seemed as likely a trigger as any, but there was not even a flicker.

Perhaps against his better judgment, he had confided in Ciaran about his desire to bring Arthur back. This had led to the story of Camelot—of his years there, of Morgana’s change in loyalty, of Arthur and his knights including Mordred, of Arthur’s relationship with Gwen, and how Merlin supported Arthur, doing his best to protect Arthur and his kingdom. Uneasily, he had delved into the final battle. He’d gone into what Mordred had done after Arthur called for the execution of an enemy, who happened to be a very dear friend of Mordred’s.

But to his relief, Ciaran had little reaction to the story. Even when Merlin spoke of the younger man’s past life and his dark turn. Then again, many versions of Arthurian legend circulated in the present day. Ciaran was aware of them—most people were. He could only guess it’d left Ciaran desensitized to the story. So many centuries, but it was still raw for Merlin. The pain, the unending grief and despair he felt could not be numbed forever.

Merlin predicted that a physical reminder, more than a story told, would be needed. If Morgana met with Ciaran—maybe that would be the trigger. Or something more significant.

Regardless, Ciaran turning nineteen in the spring made Merlin anxious. It was the same age Mordred had been when he had killed Arthur and died. At first, Merlin was more upset about the reminder of Arthur’s murder, but after raising Ciaran, he had grown to care for him. And he couldn’t stand to see Ciaran die. The conflict ate at him, unresolvable.

Perhaps he should let Arthur remain in Avalon and continue living his immortal life without his King.

But destiny nagged. He couldn’t ignore the feeling that Arthur needed to return, now.

“He won’t be in the mood to help after losing his son,” Ciaran said.

Merlin nodded. “Grief changes people.”

Ciaran took a closer look at Merlin’s healing hand.

Merlin managed to get his hand back to its previous state, almost. A shiny red patch of healing skin was left, and Merlin decided to take a break. He wondered if he should have gone to the hospital. It had been some time since he’d used such concentrated magic to heal himself. There was a reason he avoided getting injured this badly—attempting magic healing for a burn like he’d had worn him out. Only for a short while, but still.

“I’m glad the injury is healing. Does it hurt?” he asked Merlin.

“Yeah, unfortunately my magic won’t make the pain go away completely. Could you get me some pain killers?”

“Sure.”

He left the living room, heading to the medicine cabinet in the kitchen.

Merlin feared time was running out. He knew he couldn’t expect Arthur’s return to go smoothly. And when he came back, Merlin imagined that Ciaran would remember. Fate pitted Mordred and Arthur against each other.

Ciaran returned with the bottle of pills and offered them to Merlin.

“Thanks.” Merlin swallowed a couple of pills in quick succession, impatient for the pain to end.

“I was wondering, how can that man, Henry Morgan, help bring Arthur back?” Ciaran asked casually.

But Merlin didn’t miss the curiosity in his words. Despite his uneasiness, Merlin didn’t want to lie to him.

He just wouldn’t tell him everything. While it irked him that Morgana was aware, there was little he could do about it. Except not spread the secret any further. It was a secret that Henry Morgan most likely wasn’t privy to. Even if it was the source of his immortality. If he agreed to help, then Merlin would make sure he knew the truth.

“Henry Morgan is immortal, like I am. But he gained this condition by accident. The source of his immortality is the reason I need his help.”

Ciaran peered at him carefully.

“And you can’t tell me what that is?”

“I’m sorry. It’s not my secret to tell,” Merlin told him.

“All right. Who told you that secret anyway?”

“Freya,” Merlin said curtly. “When we went to England last Christmas. I visited her. Being a part of the spirit world allows her access and knowledge the living don’t have.”

Ciaran pointed his finger, accusing. “Oh, I knew you were up to something back then. You did a terrible job of hiding it.”

Merlin grimaced. “Yes, well. I wasn’t ready to share. Some things are best to keep private.”

Ciaran appeared thoughtful. “True. All right. If you’re doing better, I should go. Told Carter I would meet him.”

Merlin waved him away. “The painkillers are working wonders. Go, have fun. Don’t end up in jail, or hospital. You’re still underage..”

Ciaran rolled his eyes. “Yeah, okay. Whatever. That’s never happened.”

Ciaran’s long-time friend, Carter, lived in a penthouse on the Upper East Side. More than a few big parties had taken place there over the last few years. Merlin was grateful that Ciaran had yet to overindulge to that degree.

Merlin had gone to a few of those kind of parties back in the 1980s. Back then, he’d been attending Cambridge University, looking for distractions for his mind and body alike, waiting for some sign, any sign, that his king was returning.

But for 1,500 years; there had been silence. Until now.

“Always a first time for everything!” Merlin shot back at him as Ciaran shut the door behind him.

He shook his head, smiling, then sobered quickly, knowing he had to get to work. Maybe he would come up with a good plan while he was making his potions.

~ * ~

 

**** (Reference image: Carter)

 

**Later that evening:**

“Hey.” Ciaran turned to see his friend had come on to the balcony.

“Hey. Think I wouldn’t find you?” Carter asked, moving to stand beside Ciaran, his arms resting against the railing.

“I just needed some air. How’s the “I survived my first year at Yale” party coming along?”

“We’re not out of beer yet. And we’re about two hours in. Could do a little better.”

Carter grinned at him while Ciaran rolled his eyes.

Carter then lit up a cigarette, the smoke fading into the unseasonably cool night air.

Ciaran frowned. “You know you shouldn’t do that.”

“Yeah. Just well, you know, I finished my first year at the school my parents always wanted me to go to. Their alma mater. And they’re not…” Carter changed tack. He let out a breath, dropping the cigarette and snuffing out the light with his shoe. “It’s been a fucked up three years.”

“I know. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“You’re my best friend, Ciaran. You have every right to tell me I’m wrong. Not like I have much of anyone else. My aunt and uncle all the way over in California—they can’t really be there for me. Couldn’t convince them to move. And I never could see myself living there. Dyed blond hair, talking like a surfer, drinking kale juice.”

“Hmm, don’t forget the earthquakes,” he added.

“Yeah, would never forget them.” Carter agreed. After a long pause, he asked, “Do you believe in ghosts, Ciaran?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like, I think a ghost is haunting me,” Carter told him, shrugging like he was trying to downplay how nervous it made him. “Someone I don’t know. It’s creepy. I just… I’m not sure if my mind is messing with me or if it’s actually a ghost.”

“I can stay overnight. Check it out.” Ciaran offered right away.

“Don’t think I’m going a little crazy, do you? Seeing and hearing things that aren’t there?”

“No, definitely not. Did you get a look at the ghost, Carter?”

Carter sighed. He waved his hand. “Yeah, he looks like he’s an old-fashioned doctor. With his outfit and everything. Maybe early 20th century? He looks older, about in his 30s. Brown hair, dark eyes.”

“What? Sort of how you look?”

“No. His face has a different shape. And his hair had curls… but…seriously, Ciaran,” he paused, looking like he’d realized something. He gave Ciaran a pointed glare. “Thanks for making it weirder. I don’t know if that means I’m related to him. Or this ghost is playing a prank on me. See if I’ll go crazy. I think it’s working.”

“Sorry… couldn’t resist.” Ciaran said without a hint of remorse. “Did he say anything? Give his name?”

“No, not really. He’s quiet most of the time, just stands or sits, staring at me like he’s waiting for something to happen. But when he does speak, he says, “I’m sorry.” It sounds sincere. I always get tongue-tied—I mean, that shit’s freaky as hell. So I never get the chance to respond before he disappears on me.”

“Well he can’t be pranking you if he’s sincere. Unless he has a really odd sense of humour..”

Carter gave him a peeved look. “Whatever. Are you still willing to stick around? Maybe you can at least get a name off of Dead Guy.”

“I can’t walk away from a mystery,” Ciaran assured him. “Count me in.”

~ * ~

Despite his best efforts, Ciaran couldn’t fall asleep that night. He wasn’t sure whether he wanted to see this ghost or not. But searching for him would be a welcome distraction.

He sighed, rubbing at his face in vain. There was nothing else for it. He climbed out of the bed in Carter’s guest bedroom.

Ciaran walked over to his friend’s room to see if Carter was asleep. Which, disappointingly, he was.

He sighed and crept out of Carter’s room.

He nearly jumped when he saw two people appear before his eyes. It was like a strange waking dream where he was only the observer and the pair of participants were transparent, wisps of smoke. Maybe they were ghosts themselves.

So maybe he wouldn’t get to see Carter’s ghost, but he would still have a ghostly encounter. Whether he wanted to or not.

He saw himself on his knees, being presented before the woman on the throne. But he looked different. He was dressed like a knight, wearing chain mail armour.

Morgana. That’s who she had to be, based on the stories his father had told him of his long ago past during his days in Camelot.

Yet his father had never told him about this doppelgänger of his. Even the age appeared identical, but the vision’s expression was grim, determined.

With growing realization and uneasiness, Ciaran watched and listened to the scene before him, hearing the strangely familiar man divulge the identity of Emrys. That his true name was Merlin.

No, it couldn’t be. Was this what his father was referring to when Mordred, a former knight of Camelot, had gone to Morgana and betrayed Merlin to her?

This is what had been the result of his friend, Kara, being executed. Mordred had been left so angry, torn apart by grief and betrayal he imagined, that he had been willing to turn his back on a whole kingdom. He had chosen to side with the High Priestess Morgana.

He desperately wished that he didn’t look like Mordred. Why hadn’t his father told him the truth?

All this time… he’d told him all those stories of his past. But he’d never mentioned that Ciaran resembled Mordred.

Maybe, he thought darkly, because he had a deeper connection with Mordred than just a simple coincidental physical resemblance.

He could understand his father not finding it easy to reveal that Ciaran used to be Mordred, one of the greatest villains of all time, once in the far gone past. That is, if reincarnation was a real thing like immortality was. Morgana had been reincarnated after all. He hadn’t seen her, but his father had earlier that day if Ciaran were to believe him. He was at a loss now, not sure what or who to believe after his father had kept this big secret from him.

As the scene faded away on Morgana’s pleased face, Ciaran took several deep breaths. At Carter’s place was not where he was going to lose it and start hyperventilating. If he accidentally woke up Carter, he’d be left scrambling for an explanation.

Unless he’d buy that Ciaran had been unnerved by that alleged ghost that had been haunting his friend?

No, that would make him look bad. Who had an anxiety attack over a ghost who apparently apologized and looked like a doctor?

Well, sometimes doctors could turn bad. Amputate limbs… get all horror movie on you with a big scary-looking surgical instrument.

Ciaran wanted to laugh, hoping to stop the wave of grim realization from making him want to curl into a ball and not think too hard.

Dammit. Why was his mind even considering this possibility?

Your name means, “the dark one” said his mind, not helping to calm him down.

“Shut up,” he muttered under his breath.

“Hello, Mordred,” he heard from behind him.

Ciaran turned around quickly. It was a woman. Morgana?

“My name isn’t Mordred. And you’re trespassing.”

“I was looking forward to seeing you. I thought we should meet. I am Morgana.”

“Morgana’s incarnation, you mean?”

She smiled. “It has been a long time.”

“I might know about you. But I don’t remember you. If you think coming here would make my old memories come back, you’re wrong.”

“All in good time.”

“You should go. I’m not interested in talking to you. I heard that you were behind destroying a shop, leaving innocent people injured and the shop owner could be dead because of you.”

She only shrugged. “So self-righteous, Ciaran,” she said his name like it was funny to her. Ciaran frowned at her. “Don’t worry. You will see the world much more clearly when you remember your true identity.”

“I’m not worried. And this is my true identity. There’s a reason it’s called a past life. It’s in the past. You may have chosen to let your past life take over your present day identity, but I am not like you.”

Morgana smirked. “It seems you require a stronger catalyst to coax those old memories back. Not a problem. I have an idea.”

Ciaran became alarmed when he saw her heading in the direction of Carter’s room.

“You will leave,” he said, his tone dangerous.

She looked back at him. “It’s the only way.”

An uneasy feeling rose in his gut as she approached the room.

“You will always be Mordred. You should understand. The best way to accept your true self is to let go of any personal attachments from your current life.”

“Fuck you.” He put up his hand, not quite sure what he wanted to happen. Of course, he imagined that as Mordred he’d possessed magic, but Mordred still felt like a distant story, not his own identity.

Following a novel instinct, Ciaran moved his hand to the right. Gratifyingly, Morgana was flung backwards. She landed feet away from the door to Carter’s room. Maybe that identity wasn’t so distant?

He approached her cautiously, a fireball inexplicably appearing in his hand.

He waved it in front of her face. “GET. OUT.”

“You’ll see I’m right. It hurts you, even now, even without remembering. The knowledge that Merlin hasn’t told you the truth. That he might think you his enemy, the one who killed his precious King. He was a fool thinking he could make things better by taking you in, pretending to be your father.”

“Whatever mistakes he’s made, I think he deserves to speak for himself. He’s the only Dad I’ve known, and I won’t turn my back on him. He didn’t turn his back on me… I could have ended up in the foster care system but for him.”

“You are delusional. But I am patient.”

She stood up, getting ready to leave, dusting imaginary lint off her dress.

Ciaran put his hand around her throat. “If you ever threaten my best friend again, you will regret it.”

Morgana smiled, amused. “About your friend. I think you’d like to know he’s more than another rich college student in this city. Like moths to a flame. Those who are reincarnated are drawn to one another.”

He dropped his hand, stepping back from her. “What the hell do you mean?”

She swept her hand over him. A grey mist surrounded his body.

“If you know what to look for, the signs of reincarnation are obvious. Some signs are stronger, darker than others.”

Now that he could see his own mist, Ciaran looked at Morgana, a roiling dark mist clinging to her, as if to mark her for her crimes.

“Your friend has it too.”

“Right then. Who was he in his past life?” Ciaran demanded to know.

“I can show you. I need your friend for that.”

“No. I won’t let you near him.”

“Don’t you want proof?” Morgana did not relent.

“Just tell me who he was in his past life.”

She shrugged. “No one special. Just a doctor. Died in 1906 from tuberculosis.”

Ciaran clenched his jaw. Well, perhaps Carter’s ghost might be real after all.

“What was his name?”

Morgana shook her head. “I’m sure you can find out on your own.”

She disappeared from the room in a plume of dusty smoke before he could get a word out.

“Damn her,” he muttered.

He went to check on Carter. Sleep would have to wait.

He shook Carter’s shoulder. “Hey, we need to talk.”

Carter groaned and blearily opened his eyes to look at Ciaran. “What?”

“Sorry. I don’t think I can go back to sleep. I was wondering…do you believe in reincarnation?”

Carter blinked at him. He yawned, putting his hand over his mouth. “Too philosophical for this late at night, ask me tomorrow?”

He dropped his head back down on his pillow, turning his body away from Ciaran.

Ciaran shook his shoulder again. “Please, Carter. I know it’s late, but this is important.”

His friend sighed. He sat up and looked at Ciaran.

“Is this about the ghost? Did you see him?” Carter wanted to know. The curiosity seeming to wake him up a little.

“No, but… it did get me thinking.”

The vision of Mordred he’d seen and his tense exchange with Morgana’s incarnation were overwhelming enough for him, it would be too much for his friend to process. It was hard for him to even work through.

“About reincarnation?” Carter guessed.

“Yeah, maybe he could be your past life?”

Carter obliged with a raised eyebrow. He looked skeptical. “So you think I was a doctor in my past life. And now I’ve been reborn?”

Ciaran nodded. “Do you think you can believe that?”

“I’m not sure. I don’t remember having a past life, and I don’t know if I want to. It sounds a little…eerie…but maybe I’d just have to get used to it. Besides that, I’d want a do-over or a redo-over. I had to have done something wrong in my old life if now, my parents died in a car crash, I’m hospitalized a few times a year—only once a year if I’m lucky, and my cross-country career got shot to hell because of it.”

Ciaran pointed out to him, saying, “You’re only focusing on the negatives. You were almost valedictorian. The cross-country fallout sucked, but it wasn’t your only path to a good college.”

“Yeah, but the negatives outweigh the positives. Yale is great, but I’d rather have my parents.…”

“Having an amount of money that most people our age would only dream of. And of course, being willing to share with those less fortunate.”

Ciaran flashed him a smile, enjoying teasing him.

“Yeah, whatever, Ciaran. I wouldn’t exactly call you less fortunate. Your father seems to be pretty good with having enough for anything you need. Like magic.”

Ciaran sobered at the mention of his father and magic being associated with him. Carter probably wasn’t far off the mark there, even if he didn’t realize it. Ciaran was sure it was just the result of his father’s long life, which had given him plenty of time to save up money. So by the time Ciaran had shown up, his father had had no trouble ensuring money was available to pay for expenses and for Ciaran’s college tuition.

Ciaran grinned quickly. “Just saying. I’m appealing to your giving nature.”

“Well, maybe you can give me a few more hours of shut-eye?” Carter asked of him, yawning afterwards. “This conversation has been enlightening, but I’m not ready to be awake yet.”

“All right. All right.” Ciaran relented, and he raised his hands up in surrender. “I’ll leave you in peace.”

“Thanks, man. Great talk,” Carter said, and slid down into his bed, covering his head with a sheet.

Ciaran then considered something. Carter could be a last name. Morgana had told him that Carter’s past life identity was staring him right in the face.

Carter James Williamson…

He thought of names being catalogued by last name. Carter, James. And maybe his surname—Williamson—was negligible. It was a name passed down for centuries. But a first name and middle name—that was a different story. The ghost who was his friend’s past life could have influenced Carter’s parents when they’d named him. It could have been done subtly, without either knowing, but still…

It was like his name meant “the dark one” even if he wasn’t too happy with that connection.

And with the other details Morgana had told him, it couldn’t be hard to find out more about Carter’s past life.

~ * ~

Merlin slept that night, an especially restless slumber to his frustration. He had been working on a potion for a client who had a sick baby. There were people who possessed magic even in this time. They kept under the radar, but they still knew where to go his special kind of help..

Sometimes magical maladies required special treatment. Hospitals were generally lousy at curing curses and such.

He had encountered just such a case earlier that day. The woman came from a long line of magic users, and though she married a man who had no magic; she still kept to her family’s magical traditions. And that included seeking out magically made potions for certain illnesses. There were actually quite a few ailments that Merlin had learned of over the years which required a certain expertise only a magic user could provide.

As he watched his client’s attentiveness to her infant son, Merlin remembered. Back when he still lived in England, Alice Morgaine Blythe, a young teenaged girl, had come to see him with a small baby in her arms.

She had known and had feared the true identity of her baby. She couldn’t bear to keep him. So she had gone to Merlin.

**Nineteen Years Ago…**

“He was an accident. I can’t take care of him, Sir. And I fear I cannot end his life, though that may be the best option.”

Merlin’s eyes widened as he took the sleeping baby into his arms. “Why is that?”

“Look,” she told him. Alice pulled up the baby’s sleeve. A birth mark that looked more like a tattoo said, “Le Morte” in a Gothic script.

“The death,” said Merlin in a grave tone.

“I never planned to have him. Not now. I’m still in high school. I can’t handle the responsibility. He will kill the Once and Future King. I don’t think I can watch that happen. Do what you want with him. He is three months old. Please take him.”

“The future is not set in stone. Even the boy’s future. But I will take him. What is the boy’s name?”

“Ciaran. And thank you. Words cannot express my relief. Are you going to kill him? I know he betrayed you once. And if he must die, perhaps you are the one with the will to make that happen.”

Merlin was horrified to hear this woman talking so easily of murdering a baby. No matter the great anguish Mordred’s actions had caused Merlin centuries ago, he could never kill his infant incarnation in cold blood. He was never that sort of a man, and he prayed he would never become such a monster.

But Alice was a young mother and she was scared. Merlin could understand that she wasn’t thinking rationally. She only saw her future darkened, full of hardship, if she kept the child.

He looked at the girl carefully, coaxing her to meet his eyes.

“No, Alice. I will raise him as my own. He will be well cared for. Thank you for bringing him to me.”

Merlin was grateful to see the passing relief on Alice’s face. She did care, even a little bit, for her child.

Alice kissed Ciaran on his forehead one last time. Merlin heard a soft apology murmured to the baby.

She went back to the car and brought back her diaper bag with the necessary baby supplies. She detailed Ciaran’s schedule, when he’d last been fed, last changed, and for how long he’d been sleeping. With the supplies, Merlin was good for at least a day or two. But he knew that he would soon need make a trip for more. He had taken care of babies before, though it had been years since he had been the sole guardian of one. He was a quick learner. He would do what was needed.

Then she was gone.

Ciaran woke up shortly thereafter.

Merlin was impressed that the baby didn’t cry upon waking. He just stared at Merlin with mild interest, taking some time to wake up fully.

“Hi there, Ciaran. I guess it’s just you and me now. What do you think about that?”

Ciaran smiled at him.

“Well then.”

Merlin carried him into the kitchen.

He decided his first course of action would be to magically hide his “Le Morte” birthmark. Ciaran didn’t deserve to have to see that mark for the rest of his life, and when he was old enough to question it, to wonder why he would have such a grim birthmark.

And he decided too that he should move. It would be better if Mordred’s incarnation grew up far away from England, away from the location where he had betrayed all of them, had killed Arthur in cold blood.

He needed a fresh start too. Distance from the place he saw Arthur off to the Isle of Avalon. He was always tempted to visit that very place, and more than a few times he succumbed to this weakness. And more often than not, he had wept, feeling useless and wishing Arthur would return. More than that, he felt like he had betrayed Arthur too by not doing enough to save his life. For not being there to stop Mordred’s fatal blow.

No more. Distance. He needed to remove himself, to stop his feelings of failure from destroying his life.

He settled on New York City, which felt hopeful, and had the advantage of being an ocean away from his past.

It would do. Ciaran was young enough that he would take the change of scenery in stride. This was good. He could do this.

Merlin cradled Ciaran close to him. “Time for your bottle, my boy,” he said, and kissed him on the top of the head.

He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed being a father until he stepped back into the role again.

Merlin’s mind returned to the present and he sighed, sitting up in bed. The years had gone by so fast. Almost two decades and he felt like he hadn’t even blinked. He wished he could believe that this would all work out for the best. That he would still have his son, Mordred’s incarnation, by his side. That his son wouldn’t be caught in the unforgiving web of his destiny.

Mordred would remember and the thirst to kill King Arthur would take a hold of him. The question was whether he would succumb to that thirst to hurt the Once and Future King or fight against it?

There was little Merlin himself, for all his powers, could do to halt the wheels of destiny from turning and put a brake on his attempt to save Mordred’s incarnation, his son Ciaran, from becoming a murderer.

~ * ~

“Is it just me, or did we have a talk about reincarnation last night?” Carter asked him the next morning.

Ciaran quirked his eyebrow, surprised that his friend recalled the talk while he’d been half-awake. “We did. You remember it?”

“I thought it was a dream. Why did you bring it up? It came out of nowhere.”

“It was the ghost. I told you. You bringing it up gave me the idea. You don’t believe it could be a possibility?” Ciaran was curious to know his opinion.

Carter shrugged. “Maybe. I just never thought it was something that happened in real life. That it was more of spiritual, religious sort of deal. What do you think if it were true?”

“I’d believe it. And I think I might have a past life too.”

“Really?” He glanced at Ciaran while taking out some eggs to boil. In an attempt to combat his recurrent pneumonia, Ciaran saw him eating healthier, especially since his parents’ death.

Yet he still smoked on occasion, despite Ciaran’s best advice, claiming it was one of the few things that calmed his nerves. He’d changed, undoubtedly, after the terrible car accident that took his parents’ lives. He used to be happier, more carefree, but now his smile never reached his eyes anymore.

He nodded. “Yeah. I don’t know who I was in my past life,” he lied smoothly. He wasn’t sure if he would lose Carter’s friendship if he found out that Ciaran was an incarnation of one of the greatest villains of all time. “I just have this strong feeling that I am. I know I have these dreams that may be of my past life. Only I don’t really remember them when I wake up. I wish I did, but it just doesn’t happen.”

Carter gave him a disbelieving look.

“Right.”

Carter took out the boiled eggs and put them on a plate.

“Carter…”

His friend interrupted him. “Are you hungry?”

Ciaran was thrown off by the sudden change of topic. He gave a small nod. “Yeah, maybe I’ll take some of the cereal.”

Carter didn’t answer, just nodded back at him. He poured himself a glass of water.

“You’re mad at me.” Ciaran stated, anxious on where this talk would go.

“I don’t appreciate being treated like a moron. C’mon, Ciaran. We’ve been friends for fifteen years. I can tell when you’re lying. You know who you used to be in your past life. And I can’t believe I’m discussing reincarnation, of all things, like it’s commonplace.”

“I don’t mean to treat you like that, Carter. I’m just not sure how you’ll take the truth.”

“Yeah, all right.”

Ciaran attempted to assure him, “Anyway, I don’t remember my past life either. I just have strong suspicions. So nothing’s really changed.”

Carter was dismissive. “Of course. It’s another boring morning.”

“I’m sorry. I want to trust you,” Ciaran said in earnest. “But… I have to say…”

Carter’s eyes “Say what?”

Ciaran tried to find a way to complete the sentence that didn’t reveal his anxiety, and he failed completely.

“Never mind.” He said to Carter.

Ciaran felt bad that he couldn’t muster the courage to talk about his past life with his best friend.

“Well, that talk went well.” Carter pointed out flatly.

“I should go.”

“Yeah, maybe you should.” Carter agreed.

Ciaran hated leaving when they’d just had an argument. He couldn’t handle them being mad at each other especially now with his life was being turned upside down. Procrastinating, Ciaran checked his phone for the news, idly wondering what would be written, if anything, about the explosion at Abe’s Antiques.

“You have to be kidding me,” he said out loud.

Carter looked over at him. “What is it?”

“Someone I thought would be dead is apparently not. He’s in a coma.”

Carter gave him a careful look. He sighed, opening up his computer. “Let me find it.”

He was grateful that Carter let him stay. “I’m sorry. I want to tell you. I really do. It’s just a little unbelievable.”

“Yeah, okay. I guess it’s too early for that sort of thing. But don’t think I’m just going to let this go.”

Ciaran nodded. “Got it.”

He commandeered Carter’s laptop.

“I could get you something to eat.” Carter offered.

“Yeah, after the jerk I’ve been to you in your own house, I’d appreciate it.”

Ciaran felt Carter’s hand collide with the back of his head.

“Ow,” he said, more out of obligation than real pain, but Carter’s message was received.

“Feeling better?”

“Yeah. 100 percent.” Ciaran shot back.

Carter grinned at him.

“Okay, so miraculously, shop owner didn’t die when his store exploded around him. But with him being in a coma, and considering his age, his prognosis probably isn’t great.”

“Right. That’s awful and all that he nearly died, but why do you care?”

“Because… because,” Ciaran stopped. It didn’t seem like the right time to start talking about Arthurian legend..

Carter had enough to process with that discussion on reincarnation. His father’s plan to bring back Arthur would have to be a story for another time.

“The shop owner’s name is Abraham Morgan. He rooms with another guy named Henry Morgan. He works at a local morgue. He’s an Assistant Chief Medical Examiner.”

“Dr. Henry Morgan? I think I remember he was the one who talked to my aunt at the morgue after my parents’ accident.”

“Yeah. I remember you telling me about him.”

“I wasn’t the best person to be around back then. My parents were gone, and I was started to get sick again. So I felt miserable. I probably said some things I rather forget.”

“But he gave you a ‘Get Well’ card, didn’t he?”

“For some strange reason, yeah. Never expected to get a card from someone who works at a morgue. Someone who had autopsied my parents. That was creepy.”

“Yeah I guess it is. And now there’s a chance he’ll lose his roommate.”

“It’s sort of weird that he rooms with a man twice his age. Couldn’t he have gotten his own place?”

Ciaran shrugged. “Maybe he didn’t want to. Maybe he’s known the shop owner for a long time and prefers to live with him.”

Or maybe it’s because Henry Morgan is immortal and Abraham is his son. So really, it’s not Abraham who was the older one.

But he knew he couldn’t say all that out loud. Carter would look at him like he’d grown another head.

Ciaran frowned when he saw that Carter had given him cereal with chocolate milk.

Carter looked amused. “Sorry. Not sorry.”

“I can never understand why people like chocolate milk. Anyway, I probably deserved that.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right. Chocolate milk is the best thing ever created. Only you would be turned off by it.”

“Maybe it just makes me more interesting than everyone else.”

“Sure. If you want to spin it that way.”

Steeling himself, Ciaran braved the bowl of Cheerios swimming in milk that was darker than he ever wanted to see. It was too sweet and almost made him want to gag, but with his friend watching, he did his best to keep a calm and cool expression.

“Hey. I could give you a new bowl with regular milk. A few minutes of suffering is all I needed.”

“No, that’s okay. Don’t want this to go to waste.”

“You’re braver than I thought.”

“Haha.”

A few long moments of silence passed. Ciaran read through the article on the explosion at Abe’s Antiques again, to get all the details. Carter ate his breakfast—eggs on bread and then started in on an apple.

“An apple day keeps the doctor away.” Ciaran remarked, smile widening. He knew Carter would realize what he was referencing—the ghost who was very likely his past life where he’d been a doctor.

Carter rolled his eyes. “Hilarious.”

“I think I can find out the name of your past life,” Ciaran said.

“What do you mean?”

“Well since your name is kind of uncommon as a first name… what if it used to be your last name?”

“That’s a leap to make. All right, maybe not a huge leap…but still…”

“I’ll prove it. Look—Carter, James… early 20th century, doctor.”

“Okay...”

Ciaran wanted to run a proper search especially with information Morgana gave him. But that would lead to figuring out an explanation about the meaning of 1906 to Carter. Or why he searching this doctor along with the word tuberculosis.

A bunch of James Carter’s popped up in the search results.

“New York City? Not too crazy for me to reborn in the same general area, right?”

“You sound like you really believe this.”

“I’m beginning to… I think. Still crazy, but it’s better than believing that I’m going mad and suddenly seeing ghosts that aren’t really there.”

“That’s a good way to think about it.”

Ciaran modified his search and managed to find a picture of James Carter. Who looked very close to the ghost that Carter had encountered. “No, this is the spirit.”

He even came across a very old photo of a group of doctors. Carter peered at it closely and then looked at Ciaran in disbelief.

“Is it just me or is there a doctor who looks like that Henry Morgan from the morgue? Are you sure this photo is from over a hundred years ago? Or maybe it’s his great grandfather?”

“Would you believe me if I told you that it was the same Dr. Morgan you met a few years ago?”

“Is this something else, like reincarnation, that I have to start accepting as reality?”

Ciaran looked sheepish. Should he really put all this on his friend? Things like reincarnation and immortality remained in the realm of make-believe and fantasy for most people. If he continued to confide in his friend about supernatural ideas, then he was pretty sure Carter would start to seriously question his sanity.

What the hell. He had to at least give it a try. In for a penny, in for a pound. Carter wouldn’t appreciate leaving the mystery of Henry Morgan. Or worse, that Ciaran would lie to him. Possibly he could get away with writing off his presence in the photo as some long-dead relative with a remarkable resemblance. But he would have to live with outright lying to his friend.

“Yes,” he told Carter. “He is immortal. And going off the photo, it appears your past life was a former colleague of his. Maybe even a good friend.”

“You think that’s why he went out of his way to get me a Get Well card? Even if he didn’t really know me?”

Ciaran shrugged. “Maybe he didn’t know for sure you had a connection to the man he’d known. But I guess this Henry Morgan that the coincidence of your name and that you happen to live in the same place James Carter used to live…”

“He decided to take a chance and reach out. Even if it would lead to nothing. If I am really this doctor’s current incarnation, then I still don’t have those memories. Despite meeting him.”

“Well he wanted to make the effort either way. Or he felt bad for you with your parents’ death and you getting sick enough to be hospitalized.”

“Yeah.”

Ciaran looked over at Ciaran, who seemed both overwhelmed and strangely resigned to this unlikeliest of explanations being nevertheless, the only plausible answer..

“So he’s ageless too?”

“I think so. Guess he was in his thirties when he became immortal, and stayed the same all these years.”

“Do you know how old he really is?”

“No. But I think he’s well over the average lifespan for humans at this point. So he’s been around for a long time.”

“Seriously, Ciaran. You’re either crazy or you’re actually telling me the truth. And I may just believe you. I think. You’ll tell me who you believe you were in your past life, right? Someday?”

“I will. I promise.”

Ciaran wasn’t sure if he could keep that promise. Although with Morgana aiming to go after Carter only hours ago, he feared that he wouldn’t be given a choice. There would be no good time to let Carter in on his past life’s identity. Morgana would undoubtedly force the issue if she targeted his friend. Ciaran doubted that his telling her to stay away would work. This was Morgana after all. She was supposed to be more powerful than him, and with vengeance fuelling her, she wouldn’t allow anything or anyone stop her.

Maybe she could prove to be more powerful than his father. Than Merlin himself. Something he couldn’t imagine being true, but the darkness in her made her dangerous.

Because that meant she was willing to do whatever it took, gain as much power as she possibly could, to do what she set out to achieve.

~ * ~


	2. Chapter 2

 

Reference image: Henry Morgan

 

~ * ~

The following morning, Merlin heard the doorbell ring. He wasn’t sure who it could be. After reading that Abraham Morgan had miraculously survived the explosion, he felt distracted. The man was in a coma, but still, there was hope.

That meant Henry Morgan still carried some hope that his son would be all right. Morgana’s plan hadn’t succeeded as perfectly as she’d thought.

That didn’t change the fact Henry Morgan would still be distracted. Seeing his son lying motionless in a hospital bed would be very disheartening to anyone, mortal or immortal.

Merlin opened the door. Henry Morgan was there. And he had a steely look in his eyes. This was going to be a difficult conversation.

“You’re Merlin, are you not?” Morgan asked.

Merlin nodded. “I am. And you must be Dr. Henry Morgan.”

Merlin let him in. Henry gave a cursory look over the apartment. Merlin led him to the sofa in the small living room.

“Do you want something to drink? Tea maybe?”

“Cognac would be good if you have it.”

“Of course.”

Merlin went over to the liquor cabinet and got out the bottle of cognac.

“On the rocks or no?”

“Without, thank you.”

He poured himself a glass too, putting some ice at the bottom of his first.

Returning to the sofa, he set down the glass in front of Henry. Merlin sat opposite him on the leather chair.

Henry looked down into his glass, and then swirled it a little before drinking from it. He looked up and locked eyes on Merlin’s. “You were there. When Abe’s Antiques was destroyed.” His voice was rich with accusation..

“I’m sorry. I heard about the shop owner. If there is anything I can do…”

“Don’t.”

“What?”

“I know you know about me. That I can’t die. That Abe is my adopted son. Don’t pretend to be ignorant. I have little patience to deal with pleasantries.”

“Why are you here?”

“I’ve spoken to Arthur Pendragon.”

“How is that possible? He’s long dead.”

“It was his ghost. He told me everything. And that included why you need me. But I can’t, in good conscience, help you.”

Merlin raised his brow. “Why?”

“Because Arthur Pendragon strongly advised me that he shouldn’t return. That you would regret bringing him back. Since you require what I have, I feel it wisest that I stop you from doing this.”

He shook his head. He couldn’t trust his words. Why would Arthur say such things? Why wouldn’t he want to come back? To see him again? Had something happened in these intervening years that changed Arthur’s perspective?

And worse, Merlin was upset that Arthur hadn’t chosen to speak with him. Why talk to a stranger when Merlin was there?

“Did he tell you why exactly he shouldn’t return?”

Henry shook his head. “Perhaps he didn’t speak to you about this because he was concerned you’d get the truth from him. I don’t believe he wanted to give the reason. It looked clear that he didn’t want to reveal what he was hiding. But he wanted you to receive this warning.”

“I’m sorry. I have to bring him back. I can’t deny the feeling I have. It’s the right time to have him return. I think I may have something that may interest you.”

“What is that?”

“I know of a ghost too. I haven’t officially met him, but I know he exists. I believe the name James Carter is familiar to you?”

Henry’s eyes narrowed. “He died a long time ago. I thought there was this boy a few years ago…who might have had a connection to him. His name was Carter and his middle name was James.”

“Yes. He is your old friend reborn. I don’t know if he’ll ever regain his past life memories, but he still possesses a reincarnated soul.”

“You’re using him as a bargaining chip?” Henry said, unamused.

“If that’s what it comes down to, then yes. While Carter’s past life needs to remain close to him or else the boy will die, I have a way around that. I know a spell that can make your old friend come to see you while still keeping him connected to the boy. I don’t want anyone to die needlessly.”

“I can see him? Speak to him? Will he be capable of actually holding a conversation?”

Merlin’s lips twitched. “He’s a ghost, not a zombie. And true, while some ghosts could be in such distress that they cannot be reasoned with, I assure this encounter should go smoothly. It will be like seeing your old friend again except you can see through him. I believe having a living incarnation now helps to anchor your friend, keep him sane. As being a ghost for so long is no easy endeavour and quite a challenge to continue on day after day.”

“But you know nothing of being a ghost.”

Merlin nodded. “Very true. All just speculation. But there is my offer to you. I can let you reunite with your old friend for a little while, and you assist me in reuniting with an old friend of mine.”

Henry Morgan took a considerable time before responding, nearly finishing his drink as he pondered Merlin’s offer.

He set his drink down on the coffee table. “You don’t care at all about the warning? I’m not lying about it. Arthur Pendragon sounded very adamant that he not be brought back.”

“I do care about the warning. But I also can’t ignore the feeling that Arthur must return.”

Another pause. Henry nodded, still appearing reluctant though. “Very well. I accept your bargain, foolhardy though it may be. But my son…” he sighed. “Perhaps I need this opportunity to speak to James again. I always thought he died far before his time. I can’t turn my back on a chance to see him again even if it’s a brief reunion.”

Merlin reached over to place his hand over the other man’s. He knew well the longing for an old friend, uneasy though he was about the bribe.

Hopefully he and Arthur together could nullify the threat that was Morgana.

“Thank you. This means a lot to me. You won’t regret it. I promise.” Merlin told him.

~ * ~

Ciaran left Carter’s place as his friend told him he needed some time alone to process all the things he’d learned. And maybe figure out how they would now fit into his view of reality. Ciaran let him be. He was glad at least that Carter hadn’t wondered if Ciaran should admit himself into a mental hospital.

So that was a relief. This whole situation wouldn’t turn out disastrous. He was hopeful that he would have his best friend by the end of it.

He stopped at the local coffee shop and got himself a small Espresso along with a cherry Danish. In the shop, Ciaran saw a young woman his age peering at the glass-covered displays of baked goods. She seemed to feel his gaze on her because she looked up and looked directly at him.

Under his breath, he uttered the name, “Kara.”

He wasn’t sure where that name came from. Ciaran had never seen a picture of her. He just knew her name from his father’s stories. Yet barely a moment later, memories flooded back to him.

_“…Emrys. Help us. Please! They’re coming.”_

_“I shall never forgive this, Emrys, and I shall never forget.”_

_“The love that binds us is more important than the power we wield. Morgana had forgotten that.”_

_“…Everything I do, you think the worst.”_

_“…Since I was a child… she’s always lived inside my heart.”_

_He screamed in anguish in his cell in the dungeons. Outside, Kara was being hung to the death in the courtyard. He couldn’t bear the pain of losing her. His magic, sympathetic to his turmoil, was unleashed as he yelled out, tears coming down his face. He was gone from his prison before anyone could stop him._

_He left the citadel with one destination in mind._

_Morgana’s castle._

_“You gave me no choice.”_

Ciaran almost dropped his cup of coffee following the onslaught of old memories from his past life.

That final memory when he’d killed Arthur as Mordred—when he’d smiled like he’d gone a little crazy from the anger he felt toward King Arthur—Ciaran recoiled at that.

No. He didn’t want to be known as Mordred. He might have his past life’s memories now, but he didn’t feel complete. He wished he could forget those memories. He liked his life now. He didn’t want to be defined by someone else’s past.

Hurriedly, he left the coffee shop. Ciaran heard footsteps approaching from behind him.

“Leave me alone, Kara. Or whatever you go by in this life.”

He turned around to face her.

She smiled at him. “Kara is okay. It’s good to see you again after so much time, Mordred.”

“My name isn’t Mordred. It’s Ciaran. And I’m not interested in talking to you.”

“You and I were so close in our past lives. Don’t you feel that, Mordred? Don’t you remember?”

“The past should stay in the past.”

He turned his back on her, and started to walk away.

“Mordred! Please!” she called after him.

Ciaran pretended not to hear her and continued to walk in the opposite direction. The people going up and down the sidewalk drowned out any further pleas from her.

He might have cared for her deeply in his past life—enough that her death spurred him to betrayal and murder. But losing her had also caused his past self to become a person that now, in this life, he never wanted to be.

He didn’t want the darkness. To be so full of anger that he was willing to murder a King and countless innocent people. He never wanted to ally with Morgana again. As unhinged as she was in his past life, Morgana appeared just as unstable in this life too.

No. He wanted to stay a college student. Find something he enjoyed doing. To maybe get married and have a family of his own. And maybe his father could be a part of that. If Ciaran could get past what Merlin had kept from him for all these years.

~ * ~

Carter woke in a darkened room. The pain in his head made it obvious someone had knocked him out. He shifted, and discovered that his arms were tied down securely to the arms of a sturdy wooden chair.

“You’re awake,” said a distinctively female voice.

Carter looked to see who was speaking. “Who are you?”

“My name is Morgana. I used to be… an acquaintance of your friend Ciaran a very long time ago.”

“What do you mean ‘a very long time ago?’”

“You know you’ve been reborn?”

“Why does it matter to you? What do you want from me?”

She smirked at him. “Something that is best left unanswered. But I find you fascinating.”

“Why is that?”

“You have more to you than meets the eye..”

“If all you’re going to do is talk, then let me go.”

She only smiled at him. “It’s a shame about your parents. I wanted to save them, you know. But unfortunately it was their fate to die at that time. I had no power to stop the inevitable.”

“Shut up. I don’t want to hear about them. It was an accident. That’s all it was.”

“It was not a simple accident,” Morgana corrected. “I do have an answer to a question of yours.”

Carter narrowed his eyes at her. “If you want to admit you had a part to play in killing my parents, don’t let me stop you.”

She only smiled in a distracted manner, and she didn’t take his bait. “Ciaran hasn’t told you yet about who his past life is? How he was an acquaintance of mine all those years ago?”

“What—are you saying he used to be Mordred?” Carter guessed. With a name like Morgana, Mordred was the next name that immediately came to mind as an ally of the supposedly fictional sorceress of legend.

Carter was pleased when Morgana looked rather put out by his accurate guessing.

“Just because I have no magic and I don’t remember my past life, doesn’t mean I don’t have a brain.”

“And you have no reservations about your friend being Mordred in a past life?”

“I’ve always thought he was just a fictional character. And it doesn’t matter to me even if it is true. Unless Ciaran decides to break off our friendship. But I’m not going to define him by his past life. We’ve been friends for too long for me to use that against him.”

“Very well then. I will let you go.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes.”

Carter couldn’t believe she was going to simply let him go. Was she really the dangerous sorceress from Arthurian legend after all? Especially if she released him after just talking to him? No magical torture?

It was only when he reappeared back home that he discovered that there was a healing puncture mark on his forearm.

Carter swore.

What had Morgana done to him while he was unconscious?

~ * ~

Morgana’s plan to stop Henry Morgan from aiding Merlin was thwarted. But she was grateful that at least she had another plan in mind. This one was sure to cause Merlin unhappiness when he learned that his reunion with her wretched half-brother wouldn’t be without… complications.

Kara came to see her. She had a dejected look on her face.

“I am sorry, High Priestess. There was little I could do. Mordred remembered his past life upon seeing me. But he is determined to reject his old life, to reject how he used to feel for me. He won’t be easily convinced to your cause.”

Morgana shrugged. “It was like that before. He betrayed me, stabbing me in the back. It only took some extra time to convince him of the correct path.”

“I can help you in convincing him to ally with you. I know I can remind him of the good times we’ve had. The happiness and love we shared with one another.”

“I am truly sorry, Kara. But I don’t believe you’re useful to me any more. This incarnation of Mordred has strong loyalties and affections elsewhere. It will be too much of a challenge to get him to…care for you as he once did.”

“No, no. Please. I can do this. I only need time, High Priestess.”

“Time is not on your side, Kara. I am sorry, but it is the truth.”

“No!” she exclaimed.

She must know what’s coming, Morgana thought grimly.

Making her hand into a fist, Morgana caused Kara to choke until her desperate gasps for air stopped. The younger girl collapsed to the ground, dead, her face white and both shock and surprise still etched into her features.

She had watched Mordred’s incarnation from afar since he was little, and after seeing him in person, Morgana couldn’t help but conclude that Ciaran preferred other men over women. That might be why he had such a strong friendship with Carter—because he felt something for him that might not be entirely within the realm of platonic friendship. Now, whether or not Carter felt the same way about Ciaran was uncertain. She didn’t know the boy well enough.

But Morgana had a strong belief that Carter would still accept him as a friend, even if Ciaran revealed that he had unreciprocated romantic feelings for him.

After all, they’d become friends at such a young age—about four years old? At that time, Morgana was sure Merlin was watching who Ciaran associated with very closely. And he would have made sure that any friends he made would meet his approval.

Merlin had been the puppet master, and the boy he’d called his son was his puppet.

And people thought Merlin was the good one. He had a dark side too. He just used it differently.

Morgana smiled to herself.

This was going to be fun.

~ * ~

Ciaran regretted coming home when his father locked him inside the apartment.

“I’m sorry, son. But I have to do this. I have to bring Arthur back, and you will stop me. I can’t let you do that.”

“Why do you think I’ll stop you? I’ve never been against you! I still want him back.”

He’d tried the front door and found it was locked shut…impenetrable to even his magic. Meaning his dad had used his more powerful magic.

“But you remember being Mordred, don’t you? You looked at me differently when you returned.”

Ciaran sighed. “Yes, but I don’t feel an inclination to kill King Arthur. I only want him back for your sake, Dad. Because I know you’ll be happy when he’s by your side.”

“I’m sorry… but I can’t take the risk. I can’t let you leave here. I can’t let you stop me.”

“What aren’t you telling me?”

Ciaran looked at him carefully, not missing his Dad’s shifty expression. He wasn’t seeing things. There was more to the story for why he wanted to lock him in.

“It doesn’t matter. I’m sorry, Ciaran. But this is the best way to keep you from doing something you’d regret. I don’t want you to become a murderer in this life.”

“No, you can’t do this. This is crazy. Please.”

“I have to go. I have things to prepare. You’ll understand why I did this, Ciaran. I promise.”

“No, I won’t,” Ciaran shot back petulantly.

He watched as his father teleported away leaving him a prisoner in his own home.

“Dammit,” Ciaran said as he used telekinesis to sweep the books from the coffee table.

He sat down on the couch, settling in, as he hugged a dark pillow with stars all over it to his chest.

He swore again. Now his dad was turning against him. Merlin, his name is Merlin.

Emrys…

It felt like his entire relationship with his father was a lie. Especially when he could feel that old enmity. Even after he’d tried so hard to make Merlin trust him, the immortal sorcerer still could never lift the veil of suspicion when it came to Mordred.

And now it looked like history was repeating itself.

He decided to call Carter. He wanted to see if someone else could enter and exit the apartment, if Merlin’s spell only affected him.

~ * ~

Ciaran let Carter inside.

“I’m glad you came,” he said.

He left the door open, attempting to leave but he could just see a magical ward that pushed back on him when Ciaran tried to step over the threshold.

He glared at the damned ward, and slammed the door in his frustration. And teleporting didn’t work either. Ciaran had tried that before Carter came, and it was like working with a stone wall. Although since it had been a very long time since he’d magically transported himself, Ciaran didn’t feel very confident about attempting that feat. So that might have come into play too.

At the loud door slamming, Carter jumped, startled.

“What the hell? What’s going on?”

“My Dad thinks I’m going to become a murderer. No matter what I tell him. He wouldn’t listen.” Ciaran thought to himself.

“Oh nothing really. Just my Dad locked me in here. He went to England to bring back King Arthur. And he really is, you know, THE Merlin.”

Ciaran realized that Carter would probably find all this ridiculous and a lot to swallow. But he had already learned about reincarnation and immortality. And there was no one else Ciaran could talk to you about this, so hopefully Carter could accept this unusual situation.

Carter raised his hands. He took a deep breath, and then exhaled. “All right. Hold on! So why did he lock you in here? Does he not want you to be there when he brings King Arthur back?”

“You don’t think I’ve lost it?”

“I was abducted by an old acquaintance of yours. She said her name was Morgana. And she told me you used to be Mordred. THE Mordred,” he finished, mimicking the tone Ciaran had used when he’d said a similar phrase.

Ciaran looked at him sharply. “You were taken by Morgana?” He had feared she would go after him again, but it seemed all too soon.

After remembering his past life not long ago, almost losing his best friend to that witch was almost too much to take.

“Yeah. But she let me go. I did notice this puncture mark on my arm.”

Ciaran moved closer to him to get a better look at the mark.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t want you to get involved.”

He embraced Carter, needing to assure himself that he was all right.

“I’m still here in one piece. I’m okay,” he told Ciaran, reciprocating the hug.

Ciaran released him, and Carter spoke up, “I guess being your friend got me involved no matter what. Do you know what she could have wanted from me?”

“I’m betting she took some of your blood. Blood makes for some potent dark magic spells. Beyond that, I’m not sure what spell she’s planning on performing. But I won’t let her hurt you again.”

“So you remember your past life as Mordred.”

“Yes. I wish I didn’t. But I can’t erase those memories now. And now my Dad wants to keep me from killing King Arthur. I don’t even want to. That was a past life. So he’s keeping me in here. There are magical wards in place preventing me from leaving. I can’t break them. I called you to come over to see if you can go in and out. It looks like the spell is only affecting me.”

“That sucks.”

“Yeah. And I have this feeling my Dad wasn’t telling me something. There may be a good reason for me to stop him. I’m just not sure what that is.”

“Sorry I can’t help you. I wish I could.”

“That’s all right. At least I’m not alone.”

Then a disembodied voice spoke, “Maybe you can help him.”

James Carter’s ghost appeared before them.

“Hold on, you can’t just show up like that. You’re the ghost who I’ve seen?”

“Yes. I’m your past life.”

“So he does say more than “I’m sorry.”” Ciaran commented.

Carter was staring at the ghost of his past life in disbelief. As if now that he was really talking to them beyond a few words, he had to come to accept his existence. And it hadn’t been long at all since Carter made peace, or some at least, with the fact that reincarnation was real and not in the realm of intangible religious belief or in the sci-fi/fantasy genre.

“Sorry, Carter. I don’t think I have much time. It’s a lot to take in… but this is the ghost of that Dr. James Carter. Someone who you used to be over a hundred years ago. It’s weird but it’s the truth.”

“Will I ever remember being you?” Carter wondered.

James told him, “I have no control over that. I can’t tell you when or if you’ll remember.”

Ciaran thought about the frustration he felt remembering his past life, and the burden that placed on him. He was somewhat concerned how this would impact him—rejecting his past identity. Would his past life kill him in revenge at his defiant rejection?

If that was the case, Ciaran was willing to pay the price. He feared he’d lose Carter as a friend if he embraced his past life—including the darkness he’d welcomed in the final days of Camelot.

“I’m sure you’ll have a better experience than me remembering. You’re lucky. You didn’t kill people in your past life.” Ciaran assured him, squeezing his shoulder.

Carter looked at him, giving him a small uncertain smile.

“Always the beacon of positivity,” he shot back, trying to banter like this was all normal. That he wasn’t still in shock.

But Ciaran didn’t miss the still pale sheen to his face. He looked weary like he wasn’t fully at ease with the strange situation he’d been dropped into.

He turned back to his past life, and looked like he wanted to say something, maybe ask something, but he seemed to decide not to.

Instead, Carter nodded at the ghost. “All right. So how can I help Ciaran?”

“You have ancestors who possessed magic. Their magic and their memories are in your very blood. If you can open up your mind, look back far enough, then you access that magic. And you could use it to help Ciaran. Hopefully together, you can make the ward fall.”

“How do you know I have magical ancestors?” Carter asked James.

“It’s a part of being your past life. I’m supposed to know about your family, even from centuries ago.”

“Does that make you a Squib then?” Ciaran couldn’t help asking. In the midst of the mess he’d landed in, the fact that his best friend had ancestors who had magic—who were witches and wizards—was a welcome reprieve from his frustration. It was the last thing he’d expected to find out about Carter.

All that said, he couldn’t pass up a Harry Potter reference.

Carter stared at him, snorting in disbelief at his comment. “Ha, hilarious, Ciaran. Really,” he retorted.

Ciaran was relieved when colour returned to Carter’s face, his shock subsiding. “I want to help, but what you’re explaining…it sounds good as a theory, but in practice? I don’t think it can be done. I don’t even know how at least one of these magical ancestors look like.”

“You only have to concentrate. The answers are in your blood. You only have to think about finding magic to use, and an ancestor with magic will appear in your mind’s eye,” said the ghost.

Ciaran put up his hand. “Wait. My Dad has a bunch a magic books. Maybe something like this is in one of them.”

“But Ciaran, we don’t have time to look through them. Maybe I should just try my luck with some serious concentration.”

“No, that won’t be a problem. I can read through them fast with magic. Hold on.”

Ciaran got out some of the magic books. Using his magic, he speed-skimmed the pages of the most promising ones. He stopped on a page of one such book, holding it out to Carter. “Okay, I found something called “discreet leeching” where you can borrow magic from a magic user without that person being adversely affected. The magic you retrieve for use will last you only about half an hour. After that, you’ll be back to being a Squib or Muggle or whatever.”

Carter rolled his eyes at the reference. “I cannot believe we’re trying to apply HP concepts to real life.”

Ciaran grinned at him. He continued on, “Of course, this’ll be only until the next time you “leech.” The effects of the magic aren’t permanent. The strength level fluctuates depending on the power of the magic user you’re borrowing from and how wisely you use the raw magic you’ve taken. I only need the ward to be down for a few minutes. So that should work for us.”

“Right. And it works even when you’re getting magic from someone long dead?”

Ciaran frowned. He looked up at him. “Sorry. It doesn’t mention that.”

James cut in, saying, “It’s not something you can find in a book. It might be an uncommon practice, but it should work if you can open up your mind and concentrate.”

“You need a focus though,” Ciaran noted as he looked down on the page in the magic book. “One of your magically-inclined ancestors to…well, target…”

“Lily,” Carter’s past life offered easily. A little too quickly that it made Ciaran wonder how long the ghost had been planning on having Carter do this. “Think of that name. You’ll find her. She lived during the early 19th century.”

“Of course her name is Lily.” Carter said, rolling his eyes.

“She has nothing to do with that character’s mother.”

Carter looked surprised. “Hey, how do you know about Harry Potter?”

“I’ve been by your side from the beginning. If I didn’t learn what your interests were, then I might as well have been a rock. I’m dead, but I still possess natural curiosity.”

“Well it looks like you have your own ghost, Carter. Congrats.”

“Not sure how I feel about that.” Carter told Ciaran.

Carter then sighed and he sat down. “All right. Got it. Lily. Do you know what she looks like?”

“I think her defining feature was her red hair.” James informed him.

“Seriously? Do you think he’s messing with me, Ciaran?”

“I am not.” The ghost of Carter’s past life assured, sounding a bit put off that he was being doubted.

“A ghost never lies,” Ciaran said in a solemn tone of voice.

“I am never helping you again,” he shot back without heat.

Carter’s past life appeared impatient. “Lily was a real woman who lived, I promise you. Just relax, breathe in and out. Concentrate. Think of her name, and visualize the colour red. Some of her magic will go into you when the blood link is awakened by your proximity to her, even if it’s only in your mind’s eye. If you weren’t blood-related, you would require physical contact with her. And Lily won’t be able to see you there.”

Carter nodded, doing as he was asked. He closed his eyes. Ciaran wished that he could see what Carter saw. To get a look at this ancestor who apparently possessed magic. But he wasn’t sure if that would hurt his friend more than anything else. He was eavesdropping into his mind after all especially during a time when Carter couldn’t afford a distraction.

This being his first time doing this was hard enough. Ciaran didn’t want to make it more difficult.

Only a few minutes later and Carter opened his eyes. They were white and glowing.

“I have what you need.”

Ciaran smiled. “Are you all right? Your eyes are glowing white.”

“They are?”

Carter looked at himself in the mirror. “Huh. They are. Your eyes were a yellow-gold when you were doing magic earlier.”

“Yeah. Your ghost is gone too. Maybe he went back inside you or wherever he goes.” Ciaran shrugged.

“I sort of sense him. He’s here, just not visible. My past life probably needed a break from us.”

Carter took a deep breath, and he raised his hands. Magic came out of them—a line of coiled magic in a steady stream.

The ward fluctuated, bending back and forth against the onslaught of magic.

“It’s working. Keep going with it. I don’t think my Dad was expecting this.”

Ciaran looked determined as he continued, attacking the ward with the magic he’d borrowed.

The ward weakened, collapsing in front of their eyes.

“That was the coolest thing I’ve seen in a while.”

Carter’s eyes returned to their normal brown colour as he stopped using magic.

Ciaran was able to open the door and leave the apartment. He smiled.

“Thanks. Do you think you can teleport all the way to England? That’s a crazy trip to make if you just got your magic back.”

“I don’t have time on my side. I have to try. Thank you for your help.”

Carter nodded. “Good luck.”

Ciaran embraced him. “You watch your back.”

“I’ll be fine. I have my past life now, and Lily too.”

Ciaran looked at him one last time, before mentally preparing himself for his first big magical feat of this incarnation.

“I’m ready,” he thought. “I can do this. No problem.”

~ * ~

Merlin watched as Henry Morgan injected himself with the syringe, his blood filling the vial as the needle went into his arm.

He looked to Merlin. “Is this enough?”

“Yes, that’s perfect.”

Henry nodded. He didn’t appear like he fully trusted Merlin. He was doing what Merlin had asked of him, but he seemed very reluctant about it. His mouth was set in a thin line, his face carefully blank to hide his true feelings.

Merlin worried that Henry might do something he couldn’t foresee. Henry Morgan was immortal after all, and though he hadn’t lived nearly as long as Merlin, he was no fool. Merlin could almost see a plan forming in his mind, perhaps he’d been considering one even before he sought out Merlin.

Henry was very close to losing perhaps the only son he’d ever had. That made him dangerous. But for now, Merlin was grateful that the other immortal was assisting him.

Merlin took the vial from him and handed it to Freya. She was standing in the lake of Avalon, the cool water nipping at her ankles and the bottom of her purple and blue dress darkened to black from getting wet.

“Thank you, Merlin.”

He conjured lightning from the sky, speaking the words that would bring Arthur to the shores of Avalon.

The lightning struck the opaque water. Freya then turned the vial upside down, letting Henry’s blood fall into the lake.

The blood glowed a bright white, and what Merlin believed were little bits of starlight twinkled all around the sample of Henry’s blood.

Henry fell to the ground, grabbing his head. “I see something… I don’t understand…”

Merlin looked sharply to Freya. “What is he seeing?”

“How he received his immortality. His blood entering my lake has activated the memory.”

Merlin knelt down beside him. “You’re all right. It will pass.”

He touched Henry’s shoulder, the other man so distracted by his vision that he barely acknowledged Merlin’s presence.

The memory was so strong that Merlin saw it in his mind’s eye, only his touch being enough to see the same as Henry.

He saw a young man who was clinging to the edge of what looked like a cloud. Another man, who looked to be albino with tawny-golden eyes, reached out his hand to try to grab the other man’s hand to pull him back up to safety. He wore a crown of white glittering diamonds on his head. A king, then, and the young man his companion.

An agitated woman was being held back by three guards as she struggled to free herself. But she smiled still as though she was glad a man was going to fall to his death.

“Pip!” The King cried out.

But it was too late. He couldn’t hold on.

“I’m sorry,” he said to the King.

Pip let go and fell.

His body turned into a brilliant swarm of tiny, twinkling stars. Their light almost blinded Merlin and he hastily looked away.

The ocean appeared then, its waves big and restless as it tossed a ship back and forth across the water.

The body of stars that once had been a man—or someone who resembled a man at least—touched down on the ship.

Henry Morgan, who was the doctor on this ship in the year 1814, was trying to valiantly defend a patient that the captain desire to throw overboard.

The stars surrounded him, invisible as no one noticed the strange phenomenon. The little stars seemed to be absorbed through his skin, his body glowing very briefly before subsiding.

When the angry captain shot him with a flintlock point blank in the chest, Dr. Henry Morgan died for the first time. Henry had been thrown overboard, assumed dead. Sometime later, to his obvious shock, he resurfaced, alive but naked in the cold water.

The shock of the fall had killed Pip, but his essence, the starlight he held, persevered and chose to reside in a human.

And to grant that human immortality.

All subjects of the Star Realm possessed starlight in their very being, but they were extremely picky about giving ‘gifts’ to humans. Even rarer was the bestowing of immortality. From what Freya had told him, most of them preferred to pass away without giving any sort of gift to a human. This gift was rare beyond imagining.

“Hey. How are you?” Merlin asked.

Henry looked at him.

“I’m fine. So it is true. About the starlight.”

Merlin nodded. “And now you could see it.”

He offered Henry his hand to pull him up.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Merlin, Arthur is coming soon,” Freya told him.

Anxiously, Merlin waited.

A few minutes later, he saw Arthur approach, walking through the water. He wore the same outfit Merlin had laid him in all those centuries ago.

Merlin waded into the water, unable to wait any longer. Upon reaching Arthur, Merlin embraced him, holding him tight against him.

“Merlin, I need to breathe,” Arthur scolded him lightly.

Merlin eased up, stepping away a little bit. “It’s been so long, Arthur. I’ve missed you.” He dashed tears from his cheeks. “I can’t believe you’re here with me. We’re together again.”

“It’s good to see your face again. You and your ridiculous ears.”

Merlin grinned. “And I thought you liked them.”

“You look older too,” Arthur remarked.

He put his hand over Merlin’s cheek, fingers caressing his skin and feeling the roughness to it.

He knew Arthur was noting the gray mixed in with his natural dark hair colour

Merlin shrugged. “That’s what happens with time.”

His mood grew sombre as he was reminded of his reason for altering his appearance. He had been so used to keeping his apparent age in his mid-forties, that he’d forgotten to lift the ageing spell for Arthur.

As Ciaran had grown older, Merlin hadn’t wanted to draw unneeded attention to himself. He couldn’t risk a separation from Ciaran. With Ciaran being Mordred’s current incarnation, Merlin was the only one who could support him. If Ciaran had been taken away from him and remembered, and told… he could easily have ended up in a psychiatric hospital.

Except Merlin realized now that his “support” of Ciaran had failed spectacularly. Arthur returning had made him anxious. His fear that Mordred’s incarnation would repeat history had overwhelmed him. He hadn’t been thinking rationally.

He might as well be no better than those who’d recommend Ciaran be committed.

Now, his son most likely wanted nothing to do with him after shutting him in against his will.

He was the worst sort of father. How could he do that?

Arthur mattered more to him. He couldn’t deny it. If he had to risk losing his son to an unforgivable act or worse, to death; then he would have to accept that. Even if it would kill a part of him. All the memories of him as a baby looking up at him, smiling, laughing and bringing light and happiness into Merlin’s life would be bittersweet…knowing Ciaran would never be happy and trusting with him ever again.

“Where do we go from here?” Arthur asked.

Merlin looked at him, confused for a moment, so focused on thoughts about his son. He blinked, shaking his head.

Right. He needed to take Arthur home. But first Merlin turned to where he had last seen Henry Morgan standing. He was gone.

“Henry left, Merlin,” Freya told him. “I’m sure he will return. You are his way home after all.”

“Wait—who is Henry?”

“Henry Morgan is the man who helped me bring you back. He’s an immortal, like me, but he doesn’t possess magic.”

“Oh. Should we look for him?”

“No, that’s all right.”

Merlin sighed. “We should get you more appropriate clothes. Freya will let Henry know that we’ve gone and where to find us.”

Arthur nodded. “I think that’s a wise idea. And I’m starving too. Some food would be appreciated.”

“Of course.”

“Thank you, Freya.”

“It’s no trouble, Merlin.” She smiled at him.

He embraced her.

“Won’t you return here before you leave England? It’s not often I see you. Also, you’ll have a smoother teleportation across the great distance you will travel if you leave from this shore. Unless you’re planning to go by plane?”

Arthur’s brow furrowed. “What’s a plane?”

“There are so many things I need to show you. But you’re right, Freya. We’ll come back here. Come on, Arthur.”

As they both walked away from the shore, side by side with the pace of their strides nearly matching, Arthur spoke up, “I sincerely hope you’re good at explaining, Merlin. I have a feeling I have a lot to learn.”

“Well it has been over 1,500 years. Don’t worry. I have you covered.”

~ * ~


	3. Chapter 3

When Ciaran arrived at his destination, he felt drained. Damn Carter for being right. This had been a crazy trip to make. He honestly wasn’t even sure if he could perform any magic at this point. He only wanted to lie down and go to sleep, recover from using his magic to travel so far.

It was a miracle he hadn’t lost a limb in the process. He’d never travelled this great a distance even in his past life. He’d never had the reason to, and had nothing like his father’s centuries of experience with using magic. Not as Mordred. He’d died so young..

At King Arthur’s hand.

Ciaran shook his head, trying to dismiss a memory of a long-ago lifetime . His memory or no,, he was grateful that he had landed in a wooded area, away from Arthur’s return. He could sense Avalon nearby.

Should he go and see if he could stop his dad? He couldn’t shake the feeling of dread, the feeling that there was more going on than simply the threat that he could murder the Once and Future King again.

He stumbled, weariness settling in after the massive magical undertaking he’d just done.

Forget it, he decided. Let his dad, let Merlin do what he wanted. Let Merlin shoulder the consequences..

Ciaran sat down, leaning back against the wide trunk of an oak tree.

He heard someone approach.

Ciaran sat up, alert, trying to summon a ball of fire into his hand. Sweat formed on his brow, and the pathetic sphere was barely warm.

He swore. With his magic needing time to recover, he was going to be stuck here thousands of miles from home for who knew how long. Unless he got together some money for a plane ticket. Well, he did have his cell, and if anyone could get him a last minute plane ticket, Carter could. Advantages of having a rich friend.

He sighed, feeling a little relieved as he pulled out his cell from his pocket with his other hand.

At least the situation wasn’t completely hopeless.

“You must be Ciaran.”

Ciaran stood up abruptly, slipping the phone back into his denim pocket. The fireball still sat in his hand, but it was smaller than he would have liked. Yet it would have to do.

Ciaran’s eyes narrowed. “You look familiar.”

“I’m Henry Morgan. I’m here to help you.”

“You’re the immortal my Dad needed help from. I’m too late, right? Arthur’s returned?”

Henry nodded.

“I’m worried this situation will get worse before it gets better. Your Dad told me he was afraid of what you would do, who you once were.”

“Yeah. Yeah. I’m a living and breathing incarnation of one of the greatest villains of all time. It’s been a buzzkill so far,” Ciaran shot back at him, tone biting. “How the hell are you going to help me?”

“I believe if Merlin sees that you are not a threat, then he will be less likely to kill you. With Arthur Pendragon back, Merlin will be anxious to protect him. This will make Merlin dangerous to you. I want to make sure he doesn’t do anything rash.”

“How come you don’t want me dead?”

“Because before Arthur returned, I spoke to his ghost. And he warned me that he shouldn’t return. And you’re a player in this, like it or not. You need to live: you have a big role ahead. And I can’t allow Merlin to kill you before you do that.”

Ciaran raised his eyebrow, arms crossing his chest. “And how will I not be a threat to him?” He had a bad feeling he wouldn’t like this plan Henry had.

“I’m sorry,” Henry said. He pulled out a syringe and stuck it in Ciaran’s arm so suddenly that Ciaran didn’t have the chance to stop him.

As Ciaran felt the drowsiness settling inside him -- indicating he’d been given a sedative, Henry spoke.

He still looked apologetic. A powerful wave of tiredness hit Ciaran that he didn’t have the energy to yell out loud at the older man. How dare he be sorry? How dare he?

“I’ll tell Merlin to take you back home. He’s still your father. I’m sure he still cares for you and wouldn’t leave you without any protection. With you asleep, he’ll be more willing to return home with you.”

“But he’ll keep me asleep for how long it suits him,” Ciaran realized unhappily.

His feet were unsteady and a big yawn escaped his mouth. Ciaran felt like he hadn’t slept in days.

“It will be up to you to find a way to wake up. I’m sorry, Ciaran, but you will be on your own when it comes to that. I trust you will manage though.”

“Great.” Ciaran muttered.

“I know you feel like a pawn now. I do, too,” Henry said. “But remember this: a pawn isn’t completely powerless. The right move will make all the difference.”

“I want to hurt you,” Ciaran told him.

His mind was so fuzzy as his body succumbed to the sedative’s effects. A lingering anger toward Henry Morgan still persevered though. But Ciaran couldn’t do anything now but offer weak threats.

Ciaran felt himself wavering, his legs shaky. But he also felt Henry’s hand behind his head, supporting it, as he fell to the ground.

~ * ~

“He looks just like Mordred, Merlin. Shouldn’t you get rid of him?”

“I know. But...I adopted him when he was a baby. He’s my son, Arthur. I can’t leave him here. I couldn’t live with myself if I did.”

Merlin was distracted as he spoke to Arthur. He was wondering how Ciaran escaped the magical ward. He had ensured that Ciaran’s magic wouldn’t be able to disable it.

“Why did you adopt him?”

From Arthur’s tone, Merlin could tell he believed that his decision had been a mad one—akin to adopting Morgana.

“Because his mother couldn’t take care of him any more. She was young and out of her depth. She knew who the baby was, that he was an incarnation of Mordred. She believed I was the best person to deal with him…”

“What—kill him or take care of him?” Arthur asked, still glaring at Merlin like he was disappointed he hadn’t chosen the first option.

Merlin gave him a hard stare right back. “I may have done many things, but I do not kill babies. Especially when his mother entrusted him to me. She thought it would be best to end his life, but she was relieved when I assured her I would take care of him, raise him as my own.”

“Did you think being a father to him would stop him from killing me? Merlin, I don’t think that’s enough.”

Merlin clenched his jaw. He purposefully turned away from Arthur and looked to Henry Morgan. The fellow immortal man was standing there a few feet away, his face devoid of a readable expression. He was looking down at Ciaran’s body protectively.

“I’m going to take my son home. I’ll be back for you two once he’s settled.”

“I’m not too familiar with the strain of magical transport in this situation. As most anyone isn’t. But I think it should go fine. I’d recommend transporting him without Mr. Pendragon and me. And then you can return for us. It will be safer for your son and less taxing on your magic. No matter your power, it would still be wise to be cautious.”

Merlin nodded. “I agree. Thank you.”

Upon grabbing hold of his son’s hand, Merlin disappeared with him, hopefully back home if all went well.

~ * ~

Arthur was uneasy standing beside Henry Morgan. Merlin had told him he was immortal, but Arthur’s past experience with immortal beings had not been positive.

No. From the look of their exchange a moment ago, Merlin found value in Henry Morgan, trusted him. And that bothered Arthur for some reason.

“So were you the one who sedated him?”

Henry Morgan nodded. “I’m a doctor. I’ve plenty of experience administering sedation. The boy was frustrated, determined to find you and perhaps hurt you. I decided to stop him, and I felt putting him to sleep was the kindest thing to do. He was simply confused. I couldn’t fault him for that. And he is Merlin’s son. I didn’t believe such drastic action as killing him would help.”

“Right.”

“Do you recall speaking to me? Before your return?” Henry Morgan asked him.

Arthur raised his eyebrow at him. “No? Should I remember?”

Henry smiled somewhat absently at him. “No, I imagine you wouldn’t. Forget I said anything. I was only curious.”

Arthur frowned.

He hoped Merlin would be back soon. Henry was a singularly unsettling man.

What was Doctor Morgan not telling him?

Though he was happy to reunite with Merlin, Arthur felt his mood still growing sour.

Something was wrong.

Very wrong.

~ * ~

Arthur waited in the kitchen for Merlin. Shortly after returning from England, he’d gone to check on Mordred—no -- he was Ciaran in this life. Henry had assured Merlin that he didn’t need a ride home. Or really, his friend’s home he was temporarily staying at after his son’s shop blew up. Unfortunately, the apartment above the shop he shared with the old man was not spared.

Finding out about how Morgana had hurt the doctor’s son, Arthur did feel sorry for Henry. He empathized with Henry as Morgana had destroyed his own life in the days of Camelot. She couldn’t leave him and his kingdom in peace. Instead, she had been instrumental, with Mordred under her thrall, in bringing about the downfall of Camelot.

He thought maybe he should give Mor—Ciaran—a chance. It hadn’t been fair to brush him off as a bad person because his past life had driven his sword through him. Morgana had been to blame. Mordred had still been young, impressionable, and prone to intense emotions that caused him to turn away from Camelot. That had led him down the path to Arthur’s manipulative, treacherous half-sister.

Merlin came down to sit with Arthur.

“How is Ciaran?”

“He’s all right. I placed Ciaran in stasis with my magic. I’m not sure how long I want him to be asleep. Ciaran shouldn’t have significant adverse effects upon waking up.”

“You’re only leaving him in this sleep because of me,” Arthur said, tone grim.

Merlin sighed. He reached out to put his hand over Arthur’s. “Ciaran by himself, I don’t believe he’ll kill you. But he remembers his past life now, Arthur. I can’t trust that his past life as Mordred won’t consume him. He could grow angry, vengeful, simply at the sight of you. I need you to be safe. And I don’t want my son to hurt anyone and then live the rest of his life with the knowledge he killed someone. He’s only nineteen, he’s still young.”

“The same age he was when he killed me.”

“You understand my reluctance then.”

“Yes, I do. It doesn’t make me feel much better.”

“I have a guest room you can sleep in. Do you want me to get you settled? You must be tired. After the shopping, and seeing all that’s changed.”

Arthur shook his head. “No, not just yet. I need to ask you something.”

“What is it, Arthur?”

“Henry wondered if I remembered speaking to him before my return. What did he mean by that? I don’t remember that.”

“I think, somehow, a conscious part of you was able to reach out to him. Even if you hadn’t officially returned. Maybe it was like you were a ghost. But you did speak to Henry.”

“And did the doctor tell you what I said?”

Merlin’s gaze drifted away from him. He focused on the cup of black tea in his hands. “It’s nothing to be concerned about.”

Arthur narrowed his eyes. “I may have just returned and maybe, yes, I do feel disoriented, but don’t treat me like a fool, Merlin. I can still tell by your voice that this is something I most certainly should be concerned about. Tell me.”

“Arthur, please.”

“Merlin, tell me NOW. I don’t wish to begin my new life with secrets kept between us.”

“It’s nothing much. Only Henry believes you warned him that you shouldn’t be brought back. But you never told Henry why you shouldn’t return. You never saw reason to seek me out and tell me this. Only someone who was a stranger to you.”

“A neutral party.”

“I suppose, yes. Henry Morgan thought you didn’t see me was because I’d demand a reason. A reason you weren’t willing to provide even, as you say, to a neutral party. That’s all, Arthur. I’m sorry. It’s a hollow warning. I wish I knew more about it. Maybe it’s a false alarm. You feel all right, don’t you?”

Arthur was about to answer in the affirmative. But then he recalled feeling something was very wrong back in England as he waited for Merlin to return.

And he couldn’t dismiss the fact that his stomach was grumbling despite eating a full, considerably hearty meal not very long ago. He should feel satiated. He shouldn’t feel the pangs of hunger, right?

Arthur thought he could simply pass it off as his body attempting to adapt to returning to the world of the living. He just needed to eat more, and then he would be all right.

Granting Merlin a tight smile, a poor attempt at a reassuring one, Arthur nodded. “Yes. I’ve never felt better.”

Merlin looked uncertain, peering at him as if he could catch what was wrong with him.

Arthur knew it was mad to think he’d fool an immortal, particularly one as long-lived as Merlin, but he prayed Merlin wouldn’t question him further.

“If you say so,” Merlin said.

Arthur let his relief at Merlin’s acceptance turn into a real smile.

~ * ~

Ciaran woke up and immediately knew he was in a dream. Far from home.

Really, it was more like a nightmare.

He found himself in the wasteland that was Camlann. “Damn nightmare,” he muttered under his breath.

The barren rocky landscape was empty, eerie. Ciaran half-expected ghosts to appear and attack him. Or maybe just stare at him judgmentally.

Rain began to fall. It was a drizzle, but still Ciaran didn’t want to stand there getting wet. Dream or not, it felt real enough to be annoying.

As he looked for shelter, he tried to summon magic to keep him dry.

Nothing happened. Ciaran frowned.

He shrugged it off and continued on forward. He’d lived most of this incarnation without magic. He could manage without it for now.

As he walked, he feared that memories from his past life would come to the forefront and distract him.

The last thing he wanted to do was go down memory lane, especially with this place, where he had killed King Arthur.

A road to hell more like it.

To his relief, he found a cave. There was a pale man his age with white hair sitting just inside. He cut a slim figure. The man’s clothes were dark, in sharp contrast to the startling whiteness of his skin and hair. Ciaran suspected they were chosen specifically for that effect. Not to mention he wore dark-tinted sunglasses too, effectively concealing his eyes.

“Uh…who are you? How did you end up in my dream?”

“Oh sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude on your dream,” the stranger said dryly, his face sullen.

“You don’t know how you came to be here?” Ciaran asked him.

“I’ve always wanted to dream about being transported to a barren landscape,” he shot back, tone sarcastic.

“Okay, I’m sorry… I think we got off on the wrong foot.”

The other man looked at him. Speaking more to himself, the man spoke bitterly in another language. A language that sounded like Welsh. His dad had attempted to expose him to that language. That even if his birth mother was English, it still wouldn’t hurt to be familiarized with each country in the UK. Because having a well-rounded education was important.

“Yes, I guess so,” the stranger relented. “You can come in, if you’d like, to escape this wretched rain. My name is Bran, by the way.”

He held out his hand to Ciaran, and Ciaran shook it.

“Thanks. I’m Ciaran.”

“The Dark One.”

“Yeah, brilliant name choice, I know,” Ciaran said dryly, brushing it off. “Yours means ‘raven’?”

Bran nodded. “You sound American. What state are you from?”

“I live in New York City. But my birth mother was English. My dad is too, but when he adopted me, he moved to New York City with me. I was just a baby.”

“That’s quite the decision.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m from Wales, and I sometimes wish I could move somewhere else. Growing up in rural Wales is hard for someone like me.”

“Not many who look like you?”

“Of course.”

Then he removed his dark sunglasses from his face and propped them on top of his head.

Ciaran sucked in a breath at the sight of his light golden eyes. Like owl eyes or cat eyes.

 (Bran, manip made by Reni_m (Livejournal) in 2011)

 

Bran smiled. He clearly knew and enjoyed the effect his eyes had on people.

“Sorry,” Ciaran said quickly.

“I guess there aren’t many albinos in your city?”

He shook his head. “No, definitely not.”

Outside, the world quieted. Ciaran realized the rain had stopped.

Bran stood up and started toward the cave opening.

“Where are you going?”

“I need to think. Alone.”

“We’re probably the only two people here. Would be easier to kill time if we stick together… you can tell me what’s on your mind. I probably won’t remember any of this when I wake up.”

Bran gave him a look. He crossed his arms against his chest. “How about what you tell me what’s bothering you first? I can tell you hate being here.”

“It’s… complicated,” Ciaran said, shrugging.

Bran let out a huff, rolling his eyes. “Well, for me, it’s beyond complicated.”

“You think your problem is worse than mine?” Ciaran raised his eyebrow.

Bran raised his hands in defeat. “Believe whatever you want. We’re both going through…things if you can accept that. But I need to go and think without you staring at me.”

“All right. You do what you have to. I’ll be here.”

“See you later.”

Bran dropped the sunglasses over his unsettling eyes.

He nodded at Ciaran and walked away.

Ciaran stared after Bran..

A memory surfaced—Carter, after his parents had died. His friend had fallen ill, and ended up in hospital just shy of two weeks. In his grief and illness, Carter had tried to push him away. Refused to accept the help and support Ciaran desperately wanted to give him. Carter’d had to deal with more than anyone at sixteen ever should, Ciaran had understood why Carter had tried to push him away, but that hadn’t stopped Ciaran from being there for him.

That’s what friends were for after all.

Ciaran watched Bran’s retreating form, and then followed at a distance. Bran shouldn’t be alone. No matter what he’d said he wanted.

~ * ~

Arthur fell into a restless sleep that night, unsettled by Henry Morgan’s story.

Why had this ghostly version of him told a stranger that he shouldn’t return from Avalon? Had he become privy to some future knowledge? Why couldn’t he remember?

He wished he did. This would all be easier to work through if he was knew what he was up against.

Arthur had a sinking feeling that the strange sense of wrongness, the uncanny hunger he really shouldn’t be feeling were leading him down a grim path. His warning to Morgan weighed heavily.

And he was deeply concerned that this was only the beginning. How was he supposed to stop it?

Should he discuss it with Merlin?

No.

Merlin was nearly a stranger to Arthur. Merlin-as-father was an alien enough idea, but Mordred’s incarnation-as-son could not help but divide Merlin’s loyalties. And while he did keep Ciaran asleep to keep Arthur safe, Arthur was not fooled.

How could Arthur ask him to choose between the son he’d raised and grown to care for and the King he had served and supported unwaveringly?

He ripped the covers off. Sleep was elusive.

No matter if he was uncertain about speaking to this Merlin, who had lived through so much since his death hundreds of centuries ago, Arthur refused to be a coward.

He put on his slippers and left his room.

Arthur entered Merlin’s room. He shook his shoulder a little to wake him.

Merlin woke up slowly, rubbing his eyes. “Arthur, what is it? What’s wrong?”

“Sorry. I couldn’t sleep.”

“What’s on your mind?”

“I’m just wondering if you should have listened to Henry Morgan. Maybe I really shouldn’t have returned. Why didn’t you?”

“Because I felt in my bones that you were needed now. I know Dr. Morgan meant well by warning me, but ultimately…”

“The feeling you had was strong enough for you to disregard it?”

Merlin nodded.

“Do you know why I’m needed now? I was led to believe I would return at a time of great disaster.”

He shrugged. “There’s no apocalyptic event on the horizon as far as I know. Perhaps the Fates believed I had been without you long enough. So they brought you back to me.”

“Well I have to say, that doesn’t make a very impressive story.”

Merlin gave him a mock glare. He playfully punched him in the arm. “I’m sorry it doesn’t fit into your standards of ‘impressive storytelling’. But I care about you, Arthur, and that’s certainly impressive enough for me. A reunion story with a happy ending.”

Arthur thought that the ending hadn’t come yet. And would it truly be happy? Merlin had lived without him all those years.

Could he trust that he would finally get to live a long, satisfying life with Merlin? That he wouldn’t die, still in his prime, in the heat of battle?

One thing he’d learned so far from this modern world is that battles were fought differently. Swords and shields replaced by guns and missiles.

The range of increasingly deadly weapons was so overwhelming to him, and he shied away from the new weaponry.

Excalibur. That was all he needed. That would be enough for him.

But Arthur didn’t feel ready yet to retrieve it and wield the sword.

Merlin hadn’t discussed finding Excalibur.

Maybe deep down, Merlin didn’t feel Arthur was ready either? But he hadn’t wanted to upset Arthur with his reasons?

Arthur didn’t like that. He wasn’t some breakable thing who couldn’t handle the truth.

“You can stay here in bed with me,” Merlin offered with a wink.

He scooted over so Arthur could lie beside him in bed. Arthur kicked off his slippers and did just that.

Merlin’s face turned to his and, tentatively, he pressed a kiss to Arthur’s lips. He put his hand on Arthur’s cheek, stroking it.

“All right?” He murmured to Arthur.

“Yes.”

Merlin moved on top of Arthur, and he soon forgot about his problems. The hunger seemed to abate at least for the few hours he spent with Merlin that night.

Merlin had become an all too effective distraction.

It was just what Arthur needed during his first night in this strange new modern world.

~ * ~

Ciaran found Bran in the forest a mile or so away from the wasteland battlefield. He was leaning against the bark of a tree, idly twisting the grass beneath his crossed legs.

“Hey.”

Bran looked up, eyes still obscured by his dark glasses, expression unreadable..

“You’re right, Bran,” Ciaran conceded. “I can’t expect you to tell me anything if I don’t offer to do the same. I’m sorry.”

Bran bit his lip. “Okay.”

He scooted over, letting Ciaran sit beside him.

“All right… so…I don’t like that wasteland we both landed in because I remember dying there in my past life.”

Bran gave him a look. “What sort of a weird past life did you have?”

“It’s messed up. If I had had a choice, I wouldn’t have picked that spot.”

“Rotten luck.”

“Yeah. Do you believe me about having a past life? Some don’t think it’s real.”

Bran shrugged. “I travelled forward in time when I was a baby, or so I’m told.”

Ciaran stared at him. “How does that work? And what possessed someone to feel the need to travel forward in time with a baby?”

He sighed, looking skyward. Giving Ciaran a small smile, he explained, “It’s a crazy story to most people. But if you say you have a past life, and you really believe that; then I think you can believe this story.”

“All right. I’m listening.”

“With the help of a great wizard, my mother travelled forward in time, some 1500 years into the future, with me just a few months old carried in her arms. The wizard took her to the year 1966 to a farming community in rural Wales. There was an awful winter storm, but the wizard pointed out a cottage to her to seek much-needed shelter and warmth. That cottage was my adoptive father’s home at the time. Owen Davies.”

“So your last name is Davies?”

Bran nodded. “My mother stayed for three days. My father fell in love with her, but I don’t think she loved him as much as he did her. On the fourth day, she left me behind in the care of Owen Davies. Although she did leave a note behind saying: “His name is Bran. Thank you, Owen Davies.”

“She never planned to stay. She only wanted to protect me by taking me out of the time I was born into. So that I would be safe in a time not her own, far away from the conflict that would brew if my existence was made public.”

Ciaran considered his words carefully. Bran mentioned a “great wizard” who could apparently travel in time. That was Merlin-level type magic. He didn’t know for certain if his Dad had ever travelled in time, but he believed he had the power to achieve that feat if he wanted to.

“What was your mother’s name?” Ciaran wanted to know.

Bran looked at him, a surprised look on his face. “Why do I get the feeling you have a good guess as to what her name is?”

“Humour me.”

“Gwen…that’s what my father called her. But in her time, she was known as Guinevere, Queen of Camelot and wife of King Arthur.”

Ciaran closed his eyes, not wanting to look at Bran. This was a cruel joke. He should have seen this coming.

Of course Bran would be connected to Arthurian legend in some way as he himself was. But they were on opposite sides of the conflict.

Yet Bran was definitely not a part of the Camelot Ciaran remembered in his old life. Gwen had never given Arthur a child. There had been no suspicious absences from her to explain a secret pregnancy.

Bran either was a complete figment of his imagination down to the story he was telling Ciaran, or he was from another reality, another world where another Guinevere existed and her life had unfolded differently.

However crazy it sounded, Ciaran believed the latter. He didn’t want Bran to be just a fictional construct of this dream he was trapped in.

That would mean he was really alone now, just talking to a person with a made up life. The thought was too depressing to dwell on.

“What was the conflict she was concerned about?”

“You know Arthurian legend, right? At least some of the variations?”

Ciaran rolled his eyes. “Doesn’t everyone?”

“Though I was—am—truly Arthur’s son, my mother feared others would not believe that. She had been having an affair with Sir Lancelot. And because of that, she worried adversaries of her husband would cast doubt about my legitimacy to the throne. To gain power, they would make sure to cause people to question if I was the product of an illicit affair or the true son of Camelot’s King… eventually hoping everyone would believe…”

“You were Sir Lancelot’s son.”

Bran nodded. “King Arthur never knew he had a son until after he died. He had an afterlife—he became more than just a mortal man after his passing. I was able to see him when I was eleven. Not for very long, but I did see and speak to him.”

“I’m glad you got that chance. I was never able to meet my birth mother. My Dad told me she wasn’t interested in having contact with me. Sometimes I wonder if she’s alive now. But since she doesn’t want to see me, I don’t think I want to see her.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Thanks.”

Then Ciaran asked, “What was the name of the wizard you mentioned at the start?”

“He has many names. But I knew him by Merriman. Merriman Lyon.”

“Was one of his names Merlin?” Ciaran ventured.

Bran nodded, smiling a little. “Yes, that’s right. He was an advisor to King Arthur, and mentor too. He’s 4,000 years old.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. How he managed to stay sane living that long, I wish I knew. Although he isn’t exactly human, not like you or me are. It’s still…”

“A very long time to live.” Ciaran nodded.

“Yes.”

Bran stood up then, stretching his legs. He leaned back against the tree, his arms crossed. Ciaran remained seated on the grass.

“So…” Bran began, trying to sound casual.

“Yeah?”

“Why does your name mean dark one?”

“I have dark hair.” Ciaran said easily, in the tone of, _“The grass is green. Obviously. You have eyes, don’t you see that?”_

He rolled his eyes in response. “You know what I mean. It can’t be random that your “dream” ends up in a pitiful battlefield. I have this feeling too that this place is straight out of Arthurian legend.”

“That’s a strong feeling there. Maybe you’re overthinking it.”

But Bran was stubborn. “You know I’m not.”

Ciaran turned his face away from him. He was very worried that Bran would hate him just by the virtue of his past life as Mordred.

How could they possibly stay civil with each other or become friends with that hanging over their heads? Most likely, the King Arthur Ciaran remembered and the King Bran knew were two separate men. And Ciaran didn’t even know if Bran’s birth father was killed by his reality’s Mordred. Judging by most versions of Arthurian legend, the odds were in favour of the perpetrator being Mordred.

“I don’t think you’ll like the answer,” he told Bran honestly.

He frowned at Ciaran. “It has do with your past life? Where you died on the battlefield.”

Ciaran nodded. “I think someone wants to mess with me by putting me here. And now I doubt you’ll want to look at me considering…”

“You killed King Arthur in your past life? So, you were Mordred?”

Ciaran clenched his jaw. “Yes. It wasn’t the King Arthur you knew, your birth father. Somehow we both must have ended up here even if we have to be from different realities.”

“How did your Arthur look? We can compare…”

Ciaran reminded Bran, looking at him in disbelief that he wasn’t addressing the issue of him being Mordred in another life. “I just admitted I used to be Mordred.”

“What? And that means you’re going to kill me? Because I’m King Arthur’s son? Even if he was barely a father to me. Only his blood happens to run through my veins. If you want, go ahead… I can’t stop you,” Bran said, purposefully baiting him.

He pulled Ciaran up so he was standing before Bran.

Bran spread his arms wide, leaving his chest exposed. “Do it.”

Ciaran was grateful then that his magic was inaccessible. After all, it was something he’d inherited from his past life. If he had the ability to use his magic now, would his past life possess him? Would Mordred revel in destroying the son of King Arthur even if it wasn’t the Arthur he had been betrayed by?

Some would use any excuse, no matter how small, to commit a terrible crime. Maybe Mordred would consider killing Bran a test run before he took out his true target: the Arthur his Dad had brought back from Avalon.

Ciaran grabbed Bran’s arms and set them down at his sides. “Stop that. I don’t want to kill you. I’m just not sure my past life will take over me and will use my body to hurt you.”

If Ciaran was honest with himself, he was becoming drawn to Bran. If he got past his albino appearance and his cat-like eyes, Ciaran thought Bran was not half-bad to look at.

He briefly contemplated what it would feel like to kiss him. How he would look with marks blemishing that too pale skin. How Bran would look beneath him, breathless and saying Ciaran’s name with want.

Ciaran came back to the present when he realized Bran was staring at him.

“Well then. Fight it. You haven’t wanted to kill me yet, so you’re winning. Constant vigilance.”

“I’ll try.”

“So how does your Arthur look?” Bran asked.

“He has blond hair, blue eyes… chiselled jaw… I don’t know. He looked handsome, I’d admit that, but he could be arrogant at times too.”

“Then my birth father and your King Arthur are different men. The one I knew had brown hair, blue eyes, and a beard. Also, I don’t think my father was killed by another Mordred. He and his men were defeated by this enemy force called the Dark. So a Lord of the Dark must have killed him. As far as I know, no Mordred was involved. The two King Arthurs can’t be the same.”

Ciaran sighed. He felt only mildly relieved at that confirmation. That wouldn’t dissuade his past life from killing Bran if he wanted to. It was what Bran represented more than anything else: his connection to King Arthur, any King Arthur, made him a target for Mordred.

“I don’t know how you ended up in my dream. How you even got here if you’re from a different reality. Are you even real?”

Bran gave him a look. “Are you real?”

“I guess it’s a question we won’t have an answer to. For what it’s worth, I want you to be real.”

Bran smiled. “I feel the same.”

~ * ~


	4. Chapter 4

Morgana smiled to herself. Her plan was subtle, brilliant, if she did say so herself. Arthur wouldn’t be aware of what he was doing, who he was hurting. It would all happen as he slept.

When the victim showed signs of being hurt, then everything would start to fall apart.

Would Merlin be able to stop Mordred’s incarnation? That was the question.

Morgana hoped Merlin would fail. Actually, she counted on it.

~ * ~

The sun was just rising when Merlin woke up. He felt uneasy, and that unease led him to Ciaran’s room. While Merlin had retrieved his son’s phone from his pocket, he hadn’t checked it over. He’d been preoccupied with Arthur’s return. Just a bit.

But now, Merlin decided he should see if anyone had called Ciaran. He didn’t want there to be any undue concern if Ciaran didn’t respond promptly. He had to take care of that as he didn’t want to draw unwanted attention to him. That would inevitably lead to someone outside this whole mess wondering why he was keeping his son in a deep sleep. 

He was sure that Carter would call, at least.

As silently as he could, Merlin climbed out of bed. Arthur appeared dead to the world, so it wasn’t too hard to slip out of the room without waking him up. Arthur deserved the rest after the overwhelming day he’d had. Finding all that had changed in the many centuries since Camelot would unnerve anyone—even the Once and Future King.

Merlin entered his son’s room and made a beeline for his phone.

He was surprised when he couldn’t power on the cellphone. He used his magic to unlock it, but nothing.

“You’re not getting into that phone. But go ahead, continue trying,” an all too familiar voice said behind him.

Merlin felt goosebumps form on his skin, and there was a chill in the air. He hadn’t heard Mordred’s voice in a very long time.

He’d gotten used to Ciaran’s American accent as he grew up in New York City. It wasn’t a typical New York accent. From the time Ciaran began attending grade school, Merlin had enrolled him in speech and voice classes.

That way, he learned to speak in a more understandable dialect. More “mainstream” American English similar to the Midwestern accent. So he could live anywhere in the country without immediate judgment made on him if he had the expected strong NYC accent.

At first yes, it had been strange when Ciaran resembled Mordred so frighteningly closely. To hear him speaking without a British accent was startling—truth be told. But Merlin chose to see it as a good sign, a sign that Ciaran would less likely follow in the footsteps of his past life. Maybe even after he remembered being Mordred in the days of Camelot.

He wouldn’t be fully Mordred, right, if he didn’t sound like him?

But here and now, Merlin’s eyes fell on the Mordred he had known. Ciaran’s past life was sitting at the desk opposite the foot of the bed. He wore an outfit more suited to the era of Camelot, with a plain grey tunic over dark pants. Merlin was surprised that he wasn’t in the knight’s armour and chain mail he’d died in. But perhaps Mordred had no choice in what he wore. Some higher power must not have seen reason for him to be kept in his battle costume.

Perhaps he looked less of a threat in these more civilian clothes, but Merlin wouldn’t let his guard down against the man who once killed Arthur.

“What did you do, Mordred?”

“I locked the phone with my magic. I also made an important call to Ciaran’s friend, Carter. Let him know I was all right, but not to see me. That it was better this way.”

“And he believed you?”

Mordred adopted Ciaran’s voice. “I think I was convincing enough.”

“Carter wouldn’t buy it. He’ll still come.”

“I don’t think so. He texted back that he’s heading to Yale to study, get ahead in some of his courses… which, I gather from being forced to stay close to Ciaran all these years, is the saddest, dullest thing a 19-year old could do over a summer break.” He shrugged.

Merlin was beginning to get a picture of what Carter’s impromptu trip to Yale was about. Of course, the first person Ciaran would call was his best friend. Even if Ciaran didn’t know if Carter could actually help him, he still would ask him to come. Better to have a friend than to be alone. For his part, Merlin hadn’t realized just how strong Carter’s mind was. If he was right, then with borrowed magic, Carter had succeeded in breaking the magical ward that had been keeping Ciaran within the apartment.

Resigning not to belabour the point, Merlin decided to change tack. He believed Mordred had appeared because he wanted to know something. “What do you want to ask me? Just say it.”

“Who is Lily?”

Merlin gave him a close-mouthed smile. “I’m not going to tell you.”

“I couldn’t be more surprised,” said Mordred, his tone sarcastic.

Merlin made to leave, not interested in speaking further with his enemy.

“Wait.”

Wondering if he’d regret it, Merlin turned around to face Mordred once again.

He held up a paperback book titled, “The Grey King” by Susan Cooper.

“How did you get that?” Merlin demanded to know.

“I had a good look in your library. Collecting versions of Arthurian legend, aren’t we? ”

“How did you go there if Ciaran remains in this room?”

Mordred looked amused as he answered Merlin. “My leash isn’t so short. I can leave this room, or this prison you’ve made for him. Good job there. So exactly how real is Bran Davies?”

Merlin raised his brow, perplexed at the question. Admittedly, he’d been entertaining the theory that there was another reason for all the different variations on the well-known legend. Arthur’s story told in many different and sometimes rather strange ways.

That there was more to it than authors being sparked by creativity. Perhaps somehow, unknowingly, they had tapped into other worlds, other realities. Other realities where those thought to be just fictional characters in the world Merlin knew were real living and breathing men, women and children over there.

Freya had agreed with his idea, but she believed it was very difficult to travel to these other realities. Even for someone like himself who was not without considerable magical ability.

Merlin was aware of who Bran Davies was, having read The Dark Is Rising book series more than once. He’d been fascinated by the premise that one version of King Arthur had a legitimate son with his Queen. One he never knew about until he was long dead, but still… he had a true heir. One who travelled so far forward in time with the aid of Merlin’s counterpart in the series. All to protect him from a political disaster. A child who didn’t know his true identity until he was needed to save the world.

A fantastical story, true, but Merlin wondered if stories like that had honestly come to pass in a different reality.

“Why are you asking about him?”

“I’m just curious what your opinion is.”

“Bran Davies is as real as you want him to be. Now I need to go. Don’t kill Ciaran.”

“If I wanted to do that, I would have done so by now. You’ve done a better job hurting your son than I have. It’s better for me that he remains alive than dead.”

“Well then.”

Merlin left the room unhappily.

Of course Mordred would bait him.

He knew he would do that, but it still hurt to hear Mordred actually say those words.

~ * ~

Arthur woke up, feeling like a new man. He didn’t feel as anxious as the previous day. Perhaps the pangs of hunger weren’t meant to last.

He had been worrying himself over nothing. He noticed the place beside him on the bed was empty.

He climbed out of bed, getting dressed. He left the bedroom and went off in the direction of the kitchen. He assumed that Merlin had gone to make breakfast.

But he didn’t see him in the kitchen. Frowning, he left and headed back to check the other rooms. He couldn’t hear Merlin. 

Arthur saw Merlin leaving Ciaran’s room. He looked tired, world-weary, and sad.

“Are you all right, Merlin?”

“Yes, I’m good. Sorry I wasn’t there when you woke up.”

“You needed to see Ciaran?”

Merlin gave him a tight smile. “Something like that.”

“No, you’re keeping something from me. I know you are. Tell me what it is.”

“I’m concerned it was not as difficult as I’d imagined getting you back. With Morgana not making an appearance, I’m concerned this is what she wants. That her plan requires your presence. That it could be the reason she didn’t come to stop me at Avalon. Why she hasn’t seen reason to visit me, to threaten to kill you.”

“Do you have any idea what her plan is?”

“The warning Henry Morgan was given and then told me… that’s the key. But of course, I don’t know the reason for the warning. I’m feeling a little blind here, Arthur.” Merlin admitted, sounding anxious enough that it really worried Arthur.

~ * ~

Ciaran decided that the two of them should walk to the castle in Camelot. He wasn’t sure if they’d reach the main citadel before he found a way to leave this dream. The 20-ish miles could take most of a day on foot, but he didn’t want to stay in Camlann any longer. It was too gloomy, too much of a reminder of a terrible time in his life. Perhaps Camelot held the answer to escaping this dream world?

After a few minutes of walking, Ciaran turned to Bran, who was fingering a light-coloured pebble he’d found on the ground. He looked pensive, almost sad.

“So you said you were brought forward in time to 1966? I’m guessing it’s the 1980s in this other reality you’re from?”

Bran nodded. “Yeah. 1985. What about you?”

“2016. You don’t have WiFi then? No cell phones?”

Bran side-eyed him. Ciaran could see that he’d easily figured out he was bringing up technological advancements.

“Yeah, how are those flying cars coming along?” Bran shot back at Ciaran.

Ciaran grinned. “Really well.”

Bran rolled his eyes and shoved him in the shoulder. “Shut up.”

“What—you don’t believe in 31 years that flying cars would be commonplace?”

“Maybe in my reality, not in yours.”

“I think that makes you a world-ist… which should be a word.” Ciaran declared, smiling, pointing one finger up.

Bran gave him a disbelieving look. “That word is a disaster.”

“Thanks.” Ciaran was unfazed.

“Do you attend university?” Bran asked, shifting the conversation.

“Yeah, I’m in college. Just a local one until I settle on my major. It’ll probably be Chemistry. I finished my first year. You?”

“I go to Cambridge University. Finished my first year too. Business Major, Music Theory Minor if all goes well.”

“Those two subjects don’t really go together.”

“Yeah, but I knew I wouldn’t get far with a major in Music. So I think choosing Business as my primary focus will make my dad happy,” Bran explained, shrugging. “Although I think he’d be happiest if I just stayed home and became a farmer like him. But I just don’t think that’s the life for me. I love playing the harp—did it more so when I was younger, but even now, I like to play it every once in a while. I think I inherited the talent from my mother.”

“You mean Queen Guinevere?”

Bran nodded.

“Yes. I don’t remember her, but at least I feel like she’s a part of me because of our shared passion for music.”

“Always a silver lining.”

Bran smiled at him. “Yes.”

They went on to talk about friends they had. Ciaran told him about Carter. He figured that he’d most likely never see Bran again once he found a way out of this dream. It wouldn’t do any harm to discuss things that he considered personal.

So maybe against his better judgment, he did admit to Bran that he felt something more than simple friendship for Carter. But since Ciaran had long accepted their friendship could never be something more, he had to settle for what they had. It had to be enough for him.

Ciaran was surprised when Bran told him that he had a similar predicament.

“When I was 11, I didn’t have friends. My dog, Cafall, felt like my only friend in the world. But then this boy, he was English, came one autumn. He needed to convalesce after a nasty illness, and his mother decided to send him to Wales to her cousin. Her husband, David Evans, owns the farm my father works on. The boy’s name was…”

Bran stopped. “Sorry. This isn’t easy to talk about.”

“What I told you wasn’t either,” Ciaran pointed out.

“I told you about Merriman, remember?”

“Yes. Does the boy have a connection to him?”

“Merriman is his mentor. You’re lucky, Ciaran. You have your friend. For me, Will Stanton… that’s his name…I don’t know where he is. He went missing almost a year ago. And he has the same abilities as Merriman… he could be in any time and place. The thing with Old Ones, if they don’t want to be found, you’re not going to find them. So the one person I considered my…first friend and… maybe more… I may never see him again.”

“He never told you he was leaving?”

“No. It was sudden. His family, and Will has a big family, don’t even know where he is.”

“Any idea why he would leave without letting anyone know?”

“That’s a question I wish I had the answer to. Will and Merriman are both Old Ones, a part of the same Circle of Old Ones. They’re immortal servants of the Light who fight the forces of the Dark. By doing so, they hope to preserve free will for all humans, to stop the Dark from manipulating humans into doing their dirty work.

Bran sighed then, looking weary. He continued on, “Sometimes, Will acted wise beyond his years. He became an Old One so young—he came into his powers soon following his 11th birthday. That was months before I met him. A year ago, maybe he was called to do something important as an Old One. And that meant he had to make his family believe he’d disappeared. They don’t know, you understand, about his true nature. Old Ones are a secretive lot.”

“And this is the same Dark that ended your birth father’s life?”

“Yes. They are the same.”

“Have you tried looking for Will?”

“That seems futile,” Bran said, sounding hopeless. “I can only accept that I will never see him again.”

“You shouldn’t give up,” Ciaran said, frowning at the wave of despondency coming from Bran.

Maybe he could settle for never having what deep down he desired. It was far better than never seeing Carter again. Ciaran dreaded ever being in Bran’s position. He wished he could fix it for Bran.

“I’m sure wherever Will is, he’s regretting his decision. No matter what his justification was at the time.”

“Lately, I just wished that of all the people, it hadn’t been him. Of course I’d choose the one person who I can never have. I wish he would have given me some indication that he was leaving.”

“Maybe he thought if he did that, told you he was leaving, then he would lose the nerve to go through with it. Not that I’m saying what he did was acceptable… just a bad judgment call. No matter the supernatural powers and mindset Will may have, I think he acted like any human would. He could like you in that way, but he was afraid of admitting it to you. He decided leaving was better than confronting the truth and telling you how he really felt.”

“That doesn’t explain why he left without notice to his own family.”

Ciaran sighed. “That’s where my reasoning falls apart. I’m sorry… I wish I could find him for you. I don’t like seeing you miserable.”

“We’re both disasters, I guess.”

“Yeah my Dad—who happens to be the Merlin in my reality—adopted me, but now, he brought King Arthur back from Avalon. And my Dad is keeping me in a state of prolonged sleep so I won’t kill the King as I did once before in my past life.”

Bran cringed, looking sympathetic. “Yes, two walking disasters… I stand by that.”

He looked at Ciaran thoughtfully then. “Well, with no clear way out, we might as well make the most of our time in this empty world.” 

Bran moved forward and put his hand on Ciaran’s cheek. He pressed his lips to Ciaran’s, soft at first, pulling away to see Ciaran’s reaction.

Without debate, Ciaran returned the kiss and urged him to continue on.

~ * ~

Merlin had something he needed to do that involved figuring out Morgana’s plan. And he apparently needed to work it out on his own. Arthur was hurt that Merlin didn’t want to include him, but maybe it was another attempt from Merlin at protecting him. He could only let it be, and hope that Merlin did succeed in finding out Morgana’s scheme.

With that, he headed to Ciaran’s room. Not sure whether it was the right decision, but determined either way; Arthur entered the room of the incarnation of his killer.

It was strange thinking of Ciaran that way when he now saw the younger man, looking even younger in his sleep, lying in the bed. He gave off the impression of vulnerability by simply resting, unaware of who was encroaching on his privacy.

“I thought when you would visit, you’d come in charging with a sword ready to strike me down. How disappointing,” Arthur heard an all too familiar voice.

Mordred sounded amused, almost bored as he spoke to Arthur for the first time in a millennium and a half. Like he was glad to see Arthur if only to have someone to talk to, rather than just sitting around as his incarnation slept on.

His final words: “you gave me no choice” echoed in his ears as he heard his former fellow knight and comrade speak.

Arthur turned around. “Mordred.”

“I’m sorry if I’m interrupting you creepily staring at my current incarnation. Please continue. Don’t let me stop you.”

“Merlin spoke to you earlier?”

“I’m feeling popular today,” Mordred said.

Arthur stepped toward him, giving him a closer look. “How does it work with you and Ciaran? You can’t be too far away from him, is that it? Or he’ll die? I was told that he had wanted to hurt me.”

“Henry Morgan was lying through his teeth.”

“I thought that might have been a possibility.”

Arthur agreed however reluctantly with a man he knew he should hate upon principle. It was a strange feeling as a result. But Arthur wouldn’t put it past that immortal doctor to have his own agenda. “Then I decided that since Merlin decided to adopt Ciaran and raise him, I’d give Ciaran a chance. Even if you’re attached to him.”

“How forgiving of you, the great King Arthur,” Mordred said, his voice sharp enough to cut glass.

“I am not above changing my mind, Mordred,” Arthur shot back.

“If you try to destroy me, Ciaran will die, you know. Are you curious to see Merlin’s reaction to losing his son? He won’t care, I’m sure, with his precious golden King back.”

“I think he will care.”

“If you say it’s true, then it must be.”

“How long have you been with Ciaran? Since he was born?”

Mordred gave a wide smile. “Oh no. Since he was conceived. I got a front row seat to the life of an overdramatic teenage girl. Had nine months of having to stay close to her. I went inside him a few times as he developed…and it was too… odd. A few weeks before Ciaran was born, that was all right. But if I’d had to be stuck in the womb with him all nine months, I would have lost my mind. I believe you would have liked that.”

“I thought you’d done so by the time you killed me at Camlann. This would have been just further vindication of your mental instability.”

Mordred rolled his eyes. “You should be glad I’m not in the mood to kill you.”

“How old was Ciaran’s mother when she had him?”

“Sixteen. Alice knew who she was going to give birth to. She feared what would happen to her after bringing an incarnation of a ‘terrible man’ into the world.”

“Well, she wasn’t completely wrong.”

Mordred glared at him. “You can leave now, Your Highness. Don’t let your swollen head get stuck in the doorway on the way out. Or on a second thought, I hope it does. You deserve it.”

~ * ~

Ciaran felt someone nudging his shoulder.

“Wake up, Ciaran.”

He woke up, although his mind was somewhat fuzzy. “What?” he mumbled, confused and then rubbed at his eyes, uncertain who had spoken to him.

Then he saw Bran kneeling beside him, his golden eyes close enough to startle Ciaran fully awake.

Ciaran felt a slight chill and noticed that he had no shirt on.

Bran grinned a devious grin. He stood up and went over to grab Ciaran’s shirt, which Ciaran gratefully took and put back on.

“Did we—?” Ciaran wondered, strongly suspecting the answer.

Bran nodded, still smiling. He put out his hand to Ciaran. He took it, standing up with Bran’s help.

“This is one of the weirdest dreams I’ve had,” Ciaran remarked.

“Yes. Do you—regret it?” Bran asked, his tone tentative.

Ciaran pulled Bran toward him, kissing him on the lips. “I hope I’ll remember this whole dream when I wake up.”

Bran nodded. “Me too.”

Before Ciaran could consider going for a second round, he heard a sweet and ominous voice speak.

“Without your Old One, Pendragon?”

Ciaran turned around, but he didn’t see the source of the voice.

Silently, Bran pointed up. There was an expansive mist with no discernible shape.

“What—?”

“The Brenin Llywd,” Bran told him in perfect Welsh. “The Grey King. He’s a Lord of the Dark, the most powerful of them.”

The mist spoke again, his words intended to hurt as Ciaran saw Bran’s face fall, his light eyes become haunted.

“Your memory has returned. If only the Old One had known you’d remember, perhaps he wouldn’t have left you.”

Bran froze.

Ciaran grabbed his hand, pulling Bran back. “Don’t let him get to you. This is a dream, Bran. He isn’t real. He is NOT real.”

“What a disappointment. Choosing to remain, without knowing, in the land of men. And the Old One suffered because of it,” The Grey King continued on, his words cutting deep.

Ciaran watched Bran look unwell, unable to stop the words spoken from affecting him.

“I helped to defeat the Dark. The battle was over! I decided what was best at the time.” Bran shouted, standing his ground even as his already unnaturally pale skin had gone paler. If that was even possible. He wavered on his feet and Ciaran was concerned that Bran would fall or vomit…or both.

“You were just a 12-year-old boy then. You knew nothing.”

“Shut up. Just shut up.”

Ciaran saw Bran’s chest heaving. He was attempting to breathe, but he couldn’t seem to get air in. He was hyperventilating. He was bent forward, his hands on his knees.

“Bran! He’s trying to get inside your head. Don’t let this Grey King screw with you. Come on, calm down.” Ciaran rubbed Bran’s back. “Don’t listen to him. Breathe, all right?”

Then the Grey King turned his attention to him. “You think you can escape your fate, Mordred. You cannot.”

Ciaran glared at the bodiless entity above them in the sky. The mist was surrounding them too. They were fighting an enemy who could not bleed. It seemed futile as the force of the Grey King, this Lord of the Dark according to Bran, pushed at him, unrelenting.

He couldn’t see a way of defeating it.

Unless that’s how he would wake up from this dream? If he was killed?

“You’re wrong.” Ciaran rose to the Grey King’s challenge. If he was going to die, for real or not, he wouldn’t have this mist thing have the final word.

“My name is Ciaran. You don’t know me and you never will.”

“Your greatest challenge is yet to come,” the Grey King stated, so full of certainty that Ciaran could not deny his words.

“Don’t say anymore, Ciaran. This won’t help,” Bran advised him, his tone desperate.

Ciaran shook his head. He wouldn’t back down.

A crystal sword appeared at Ciaran’s eye level.

“Eirias will release the both of you from this dream. You need to only kill one another with the weapon. I’m sure you are familiar with the deadly power of a magical sword, Mordred,” The Grey King said, refusing to acknowledge Ciaran as anything other than his past life.

Ciaran lifted his head to the sky. “You’re right, I am. But just one man will die.”

He grabbed the floating sword in front of him and aimed it at himself.

“Ciaran! No!” Bran exclaimed. He tried wrenching the sword from his grasp. “Eirias is MY sword. I won’t let you do this.”

“There’s no other way,” he said to Bran.

Ciaran felt the overwhelming presence of the Grey King subside just as a blinding light flashed intensely in front of them.

He heard Bran swear and slip his sunglasses over his eyes.

Ciaran looked at his hands. The sword was gone. Had Bran taken it?

“You idiot.” he heard a voice say inside his mind.

He knew that voice.

It was the voice of his past life.

It was Mordred.

~ * ~

Mordred watched Morgana with a suspicious eye as she looked at him in disappointment. She had her hands on her hips as if she were a mother in the midst of reprimanding a wayward child.

But Mordred was no child. And he wouldn’t let Morgana force her agenda on him. She was the last person he wanted to follow. Allying himself with her the last time around led to his death. She had made him focus on his anger, his thirst for revenge. That had stopped him from coming up with a more thoughtful plan to carry out his revenge.

And he had a fatal blow from King Arthur’s sword to show for his impulsive decision.

“Why did you do it? Why did you give Ciaran back your magic?”

“It’s his too,” Mordred corrected her.

“But you hate him.”

Mordred frowned at her. “You think you know my mind now.”

“I just want to know why.”

“I don’t have to answer to you.”

Mordred looked over at Ciaran, his current incarnation. He didn’t like that he’d been rejected by Ciaran. But many centuries removed from that final battle at Camlann, Mordred could grudgingly understand Ciaran shunning him.

He hadn’t been in the most reasonable frame of mind then. He’d been a version of himself he wasn’t especially proud of.

“Ciaran is more useful to me alive,” Mordred reluctantly gave her a reason.

Watching Morgana stand there, appearing amused by something, made Mordred uneasy. He couldn’t let her stay. He wished he hadn’t said anything.

What if Morgana knew the truth? Because when Ciaran died, Mordred would return to what he was before his incarnation was conceived. A ball of light without any self-awareness. While it was all right before his reincarnation, now that he knew what he would be missing, it was a nightmare.

Even if he was just a ghost shadowing his incarnation, it was far better than being a mindless light ball. At least now Mordred was able to think for himself, perform magic, and see what the future had to offer as each incarnation was reborn in a different time and place.

But getting reincarnated once was no guarantee it would happen again. Or what the span of time was between one incarnation’s death and the next incarnation’s conception. Usually it was a very long time—judging by the 1,500 some years before Ciaran came into existence.

Mordred stared Morgana down, smiling as he set about ensuring her departure. He lowered the temperature of the bedroom. Being a ghost, he could easily tolerate very cold temperatures. The more Arctic-like, the better.

Morgana started to shiver. Watching her carefully, she did as Mordred predicted. She said a spell under her breath to keep her warm.

“No one is allowed to use magic in this room without my consent. Your effort is futile.”

“You can’t possibly do that,” Morgana retorted, overconfident in her abilities.

“I am the one who killed King Arthur,” he declared, pointing at himself. “Many Druids said I would have even rivaled Emrys himself with more years of training and experience using my magic. It is your mistake, Morgana, to underestimate me. Almost two decades now with Ciaran, don’t think I sat around, doing nothing,” he said.

“We are meant to be allies.”

“We were. I am not some boy now to be manipulated to fit your game. I will not break again, not like I did with Kara. I died because you convinced me to embrace my anger. I was so pleased that I had hurt him as he had hurt me by executing Kara. I wasn’t thinking clearly – I remember feeling like I was going mad, that nothing and no one could stop me. That I could have all magic at my fingertips, and how can King Arthur hope to defeat me then? I didn’t see his attack coming. It was because of you that I died,” he accused her.

Mordred magically dropped the temperature even further.

Morgana collapsed. She raised her hand, putting it out in front of her.

“Ciaran isn’t affected by the cold as he’s connected to me. But you’re not so lucky.”

“Mordred, please.”

“No,” he said, a finality in his tone.

He had no sympathy as he watched Morgana’s skin turn blue, her magic weak against this cold spell Mordred had perfected.

“Tell me this: where’s your past life? What did you do to her? I don’t sense her as well as I should.”

“I heard that possession by a past life was possible. Even if my past life would agree with my plans, there’s a high risk of becoming mentally ill from a possession. I didn’t want to be sectioned. So I found a spell to sedate her… because if I destroy her, I think you know what will happen to me.” Morgana’s eyes pierced him as she finished.

Mordred smiled wider, darkly pleased at Morgana’s mistake.

While it was terrible to hear another ghost of a past life being “put to sleep”, since it was Morgana, he couldn’t muster much sympathy. He was grateful that Ciaran wasn’t aware of this sedating spell.

“What a shame,” he remarked, his tone flippant. “Because she might have protected you from the cold.”

Morgana teleported out, still shivering in a useless effort at warming herself.

Mordred smiled as she disappeared. He heard a distant scream echo from her.

He wondered if he should have warned Morgana about leaving the room without his permission.

No, she deserved the shock she would very soon receive.

~ * ~


	5. Chapter 5

It was afternoon when Merlin came home, appearing visibly upset.

“What is it, Merlin? What did you find?”

Merlin looked at him, his eyes sad, and Arthur couldn’t miss the discontent in his expression.

Merlin put his hands over his face, attempting to compose himself it seemed. Dropping his hands, he headed to the liquor cabinet in the living room. He took out a bottle of vodka and poured some in a shotglass, swallowing it down in quick succession.

He set the glass back down so that it clinked loudly against the wood of the coffee table.

Arthur sat down opposite him.

Merlin shook his head, sighing. “Ciaran’s friend, Carter, has fallen ill. Henry Morgan let me know. He’s taking care of him. But he believes that if he doesn’t get a blood transfusion soon, he won’t have very long.”

“Then what is the problem?”

“Carter’s blood type is AB+, so he should be able to receive blood from anyone,” Merlin explained. “But now, Henry has informed me that his blood type appears to have changed. It doesn’t match any blood type known to humans. It might as well be blood type X. And according to Carter’s past life, Morgana did take some of Carter’s blood.”

“So you think Morgana will place the blame on me?” Arthur guessed.

After all, that was her goal. And targeting Ciaran’s friend was her way to get Ciaran thinking about revenge. And then Morgana would insure the anger of Mordred’s incarnation would be directed at Arthur, the same man who ordered the execution of the woman he cared for in the days of Camelot. “That seems like a considerable effort to do that.”

Merlin nodded. “I agree as it isn’t the easiest spell to accomplish. But Morgana was determined. She could have done anything with Carter’s blood, but she chose this. To give him a potentially lethal case of anemia. If Ciaran wakes on his own, this could prove disastrous.”

Arthur rubbed the back of his head. “But Ciaran has to believe that I wasn’t involved with this. I would never intentionally hurt a friend of his.”

“You can’t underestimate Morgana,” Merlin reminded him, his eyes piercing his.

The serious nature of his expression deeply concerned Arthur. He wanted to be hopeful that everything would turn out all right, but Merlin’s ill ease was giving him pause. “And since Ciaran remembers being Mordred, he could choose to blame you, just to have any reason to hurt you,” Merlin warned Arthur.

“Then we have to make sure Ciaran doesn’t wake up,” Arthur said. His hands clenched and unclenched.

“I don’t think that will happen. Ciaran is my son, Arthur. I know him, and he wouldn’t want to remain in this induced sleep. He will fight to return. I can only keep him asleep so long. And I imagine Morgana will want to wake him up to carry out her plan. I can’t have that happen as she may do far worse than just waking Ciaran if she gets her hands on him.”

Arthur felt defeated. He let out a long sigh. “And you can’t cure Carter’s condition? Or maybe give him your blood? Since you’re immortal, even if all your blood is needed, you can survive it, right?”

Merlin frowned. “I’m sorry, Arthur. I cannot help Carter. I wish, you don’t know much I do, that I could make him better. But for now, we can only hope he’s strong enough to hold on a little longer. Until Freya and I can figure out a way to save him.”

Arthur stood up, deciding pacing would calm his turmoil of emotions.

“And you said Carter has a past life? Like Ciaran does?”

Bringing up Ciaran’s past life made Arthur wonder if he should let Merlin know that he talked to Mordred. The talk had ended on a terrible note, and wouldn’t help Arthur if Ciaran chose to attack him. He’d made an error, he admitted that, and added more fire to Mordred’s hatred against him.

Could Arthur hope that this hate wouldn’t transfer into Ciaran, reminding him of why he struck Arthur down in his past life?

No, he couldn’t tell Merlin about it. He didn’t want to add one more bad thing on top of everything else Merlin was burdened with now.

“Yes, Carter is reincarnated,” Merlin confirmed. “He used to be a doctor, going by James Carter, in his previous life.”

“And this former doctor cannot help him either? If Henry Morgan is a doctor too… I can’t believe that between the two of them, they can’t reverse the anemia he has.”

Merlin shook his head, eyeing the bottle of clear alcohol in front of him. “Carter’s past life doesn’t have that power. He has to remain inside his current incarnation because Carter is too weak to have his past life outside him. Keeping their bond close might help in Carter’s fight against the anemia, but it won’t cure him. Only a blood transfusion will do that. No number of doctors will make much difference. We don’t have the blood Carter badly needs now. Morgana is victorious for the moment,” he grudgingly admitted.

Arthur knew it was hard for Merlin to declare Morgana had the upper hand against them. It pained Arthur just to hear the words spoken. It was a resigned acceptance Arthur could, would not allow to stand.

Morgana might be winning this battle, but he and Merlin would win the war.

“There has to be something,” Arthur said in earnest. “If we make sure Ciaran isn’t—”

“Arthur, if you’re suggesting we kill him while he’s asleep, that is not an option,” Merlin shot back, angry, and Arthur immediately felt terrible for even thinking of killing Ciaran.

“I didn’t mean—all right, maybe I did, but he is dangerous, Merlin. Or he will be when he wakes up. I want to stop him before he has the opportunity to kill me. I want to give him a chance since he’s your son, but with Ciaran’s friend gravely ill, I’m afraid this will be like what happened with Kara. Mordred escaped his cell and he betrayed you to Morgana. That’s what you told me the other day, remember?”

Merlin frowned at him. “I’ve raised Ciaran since he was a baby. Mordred may have betrayed me back in Camelot, but a lot of time has gone by for me. Being Ciaran’s father, no matter if he remembers being Mordred or not, is something I’m happy about. I can’t out of good conscience kill him, Arthur. All I’ll see is him as a baby in my arms. I would feel like nothing less than a monster for ending the life of the son I chose to adopt and raise as my own.”

Arthur pressed his hand to his brow. “I’m sorry, Merlin. I don’t see Mordred’s incarnation as you do. I hate that I’m putting you in this position.”

Merlin squeezed his shoulder. “The fact I left you alone here with Ciaran earlier, and he’s still alive, that shows me you are a better person than most.”

“How do you know if he’s alive? You haven’t gone to see him since you’ve returned.”

Merlin raised an incredulous brow at him. “Magic. I put a monitoring spell on him that will inform me about his status no matter how far away I am from Ciaran.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Of course. How could it be anything else?”

Merlin gave him a small smile, looking mildly amused. Then he asked Arthur, “How are you feeling? Especially with adjusting to this new time and place?”

“I’m all right. Better than ever.”

Merlin peered carefully at him, doubtful. Still, he settled into an expression of resignation. “I’m not sure I believe you, Arthur. But I need to go visit Carter. See how he’s doing in person. Henry is taking care of him at his home.”

“Being at the hospital would draw unwanted attention to him?”

Merlin nodded. “Finding out his blood type isn’t one of the known kinds would lead to inquiries. It’s far safer he remain at home.”

“I’m coming too,” Arthur decided, his tone brooking no argument. “I should have some distance from Ciaran after all.”

Arthur added that last bit to convince Merlin. Of course he would agree to his reasoning. Being in close quarters with Mordred’s incarnation would not end well if Arthur let it continue.

Merlin looked very tired as he gave him a quick nod. “You can come.”

~ * ~

Ciaran found that he had fallen, back to the ground.

Bran offered his hand to him. Ciaran took it, noticing that Bran had the crystal sword in its sheath at his side.

“Are you all right?” Bran asked.

Ciaran nodded. “I’m not sure what happened.”

Then he remembered the blinding light, the Grey King leaving, and the voice of his past life.

Had Mordred, of all people, saved him? Ciaran thought his past life would be the first to enjoy watching him kill himself.

Unless Mordred required he stay alive for his selfish reasons. Most likely that was the case.

“The Grey King is gone,” Bran said, sounding relieved. He took off his sunglasses, placing them back on top of his head.

Ciaran couldn’t stop his gaze from wandering to the sword, Eirias as it was called apparently, at Bran’s hip.

Even if the Grey King had been an adversary, he still provided the only way out for Ciaran. And Bran too.

If they used the crystal sword, then they both could return home. Even if he wasn’t thrilled with the killing aspect of it. But it wouldn’t be real, would it?

Bran noticed where Ciaran’s attention was. He frowned.

“No,” Bran said, tone firm. “We are not killing each other with Eirias. The Grey King is not to be trusted. Don’t even think I’ll let you go through with it.”

“It’s the only option we have now. Otherwise how much longer can we stay here before we go crazy with only each other for company?” Ciaran argued.

“There has to be another way. There WILL be one. But not with this sword.”

Bran turned on his heel and walked away from him.

“Hey, where do you think you’re going?”

Bran turned his head, looking back at him. “Weren’t we heading to the Camelot you knew?”

“Yes, but that was only to have a destination. Instead of aimless wandering.”

“But maybe in Camelot, at the citadel, there will be a solution to our problem,” Bran said, still hopeful even if Ciaran was not.He really didn’t want to go to the citadel even if he was the one to suggest it. And Ciaran reluctantly recalled that he’d hoped the same as Bran. That going there, to the citadel, would provide them the answer they wanted.

Still, the bad memories of that place cast a shadow over the happy memories he’d had there as Mordred. Back when he had tried to be a good and loyal knight.

Until King Arthur decided to execute the girl he had been fond of.

Ciaran jogged to catch up with Bran.

“Fine. You have a point,” Ciaran told him, the admission not an easy one to make.

“Thank you,” Bran said.

Ciaran had an urge to kiss him, but he bet Bran would see it as a distraction to take the sword.

“So… I remember the Grey King said something about the Old One? That was Will Stanton, right?”

Bran stopped walking, his whole body tense.

“Sorry. I’m guessing it’s a sensitive topic?” Ciaran decided.

“He was trying to make me feel bad,” Bran said, frowning. “It didn’t work.”

Yet from the sound of his voice, Ciaran was doubtful that it hadn’t worked.

“After I helped to save my world from the forces of the Dark, I was given a choice,” Bran explained. “To go with my birth father, King Arthur, outside Time and ‘retire.’ Which, considering I was only 12, was not what I imagined my future to be.”

“You chose to stay and continue to live in Wales.”

Bran nodded. He let out a long, tired sigh. He didn’t look at Ciaran. Instead he stared straight ahead.

“I thought it was the right decision. But I was only 12. I was too young. I didn’t realize the gravity of my choice. I had to forget my heritage, that I was the Pendragon, the son of King Arthur. My role was done as the Pendragon after all. And how could I live a normal life knowing my true identity? I thought—”

Bran fell quiet.

“Bran?”

He continued on, but Ciaran noted the weary tone of his voice. He could tell this wasn’t easy for Bran to recount. “I thought I could be of better help by remaining. The Old Ones were all leaving too, you see. With the threat of the Dark dealt with, they weren’t needed anymore. Best to leave things to the judgment of humans. But Will, as the Watchman, stayed on Earth to keep an eye out for any sign of the Dark’s return. I think over time, Will found my memory loss hard to cope with. I would have given anything to learn why Will seemed sometimes distant with me… how he had a sad look in his eyes when he thought I didn’t see him.”

“You think he left because you weren’t the same? There has to be a better reason than that,” Ciaran argued. “Maybe it had to do something with the Dark…”

“When we met in this dream, it’d been only few minutes since the memories came back to me,” Bran let him know. “I remembered how Will and I were near equals in a way during the final battle against the Dark. We were close…we understood things in the same way that others couldn’t. We were a team. Merriman did say he would see Will. So Will did have him as support. But I think he still missed me…and what we used to be. I do too.”

Ciaran felt very wrong-footed. Considering he himself had sex with Bran, Ciaran felt like a rebound upon hearing about the bond between Bran and Will. A bond that could have very well led to intimacy.

Bran looked over at Ciaran, noticing Ciaran’s uneasiness.

“We—Will and I—we never were together in that way. Not long before he went missing, I had wanted to be with him…but a part of me knew that I couldn’t. That Will wasn’t being fully honest with me, and it just wouldn’t feel right. It wasn’t Will’s fault. I understand that now. I think he wanted to respect my decision by not pulling me into his world again.”

“I don’t know what to say. I think you had an impossible choice. I couldn’t imagine being given an ultimatum like that when I was 12.”

“I was the lucky one then,” Bran quipped.

Ciaran put his hand on Bran’s arm. “You shouldn’t beat yourself up about it.”

Bran shrugged. “Yeah, I know I shouldn’t,” he said, sounding distant.

Ciaran wasn’t feeling the conviction of his words.

He moved closer to Bran and he put his hand on his cheek.

“I wish I could help you,” Ciaran told him.

“This is enough for now,” Bran said.

He gripped the back of Ciaran’s neck and kissed him. Ciaran couldn’t stop him as Bran pulled him down to the ground.

Bran grinned as he looked up at Ciaran who straddled him.

“Here I thought you wouldn’t do that.”

“You were too slow,” Bran pointed out to him.

Ciaran’s gaze automatically went to the sword still holstered to Bran’s hip.

Bran noticed, and then he took both of Ciaran’s hands in his own. “I still won’t let you.”

“I know, it’s just…” Ciaran drifted off.

Bran sat up then, Ciaran moving off of him. “We will find a way.” This time Bran spoke with conviction.

“I hope so.”

Ciaran kissed Bran, his fingers lacing through white hair.

Then it started to rain. It was not unlike the drizzle that had been a nuisance when Ciaran first arrived in the dream.

Ciaran realized that his magic was back. There had to be a connection with hearing his past life speak to him and stopping the Grey King. He must have given Ciaran his magic back.

“Sorry… I think my magic is back. But I didn’t consciously use it to make rain fall.”

“You didn’t have your magic this whole time?” Bran asked, sounding surprised.

“Yeah, why?”

Bran gave him a mischievous smile. “I was sure I was only attracted to you because of some magical spell you used against me. Now I realize I just have a poor taste in partners.”

Ciaran rolled his eyes, hitting Bran’s shoulder in jest. “Then why did you let me keep going?”

Bran shrugged, looking sheepish. “I was enjoying myself.”

Ciaran eyed him, not fully able to understand Bran’s thought process. “Good to know I got good marks.”

“We should get out of this rain,” said Bran. “Unless you can magick the rain not to get us wet?”

Ciaran accepted the challenge. He was grateful that his magic responded to him despite the unwanted rainfall.

The rain drops surrounded them but didn’t touch them.

Bran smiled, appearing impressed. Ciaran smiled in return, glad that his magic was back and working as it should.

Alarm grew in Ciaran when he saw Bran beginning to disappear.

“I’m sorry, Ciaran. I think I’m leaving.”

“But how?”

Bran’s face fell, a distraught look on his face. “I think…I think I hear the time.”

Ciaran stared at him, silently asking for further clarification.

Bran looked like he was about to cry, tears welling up at his eyes. He turned away from Ciaran.

“Bran? What is it?”

“I was hoping… but… Ciaran, it’s the time of my death. I’m sorry.”

Ciaran continued to stare at him. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“You’re lying!”

“You have a chance, Ciaran. You can return home. You have to reach the citadel. I won’t be so lucky.”

Still, he stood there, numb with shock.

He wouldn’t accept this. Bran was his age—he still had his whole life ahead of him. Bran couldn’t die.

Bran kissed him one last time, a desperate press of the lips, clinging to Ciaran’s dark hair for a few fleeting moments.

And then Bran was gone.

Ciaran stood there, despondently watching the empty space where Bran had been.

He wanted to scream, to summon his magic to create a terrible storm so the noise of it would distract him from the grief creeping up on him.

Even if he hadn’t known Bran for very long, Ciaran had felt a connection to him. He had grown to care for him.

With Bran, it was different, though, compared to his friendship with Carter. With Bran, Ciaran could be intimate… in all the ways he desired. And then there was the common ground they’d shared, being a part of Arthurian legend.

Ciaran made it to Camelot and the citadel not long after.

He stood just a few feet away from the front steps of the castle.

Ciaran’s eyes burned as he unleashed his biggest magic yet.

His expression blank, Ciaran watched the castle collapse, stone by stone, glass breaking, towers toppling over and falling.

With magic, he protected himself from the debris of the destruction.

Ciaran screamed, urging the demolition to continue. His magic responded.

He saw his hands disappearing. Not long afterwards, Ciaran was transported away.

He woke up in bed in his own bedroom.

Inside his head, Ciaran still heard the echoes of his screaming.

~ * ~

“You have to try, Merlin,” Arthur urged him.

They both watched Carter resting in his bed looking much too pale. Beads of sweat collected on his forehead.

As Henry Morgan pressed a cool cloth over Carter’s brow, he looked over at the pair of them.

Merlin sighed, relenting. “All right, Arthur I will try and help Carter. You have a point. I shouldn’t give up before even making an effort.”

“Thank you,” said Arthur, sounding pleased.

Merlin placed his hands over Carter’s body. He hoped to magically replenish the blood he’d lost so that he wouldn’t need a blood transfusion from someone who miraculously matched his blood type.

His magic came up against a barrier though. He wasn’t able to command his magic to break through the block.

Merlin looked with regret at Arthur who frowned, undoubtedly noticing Merlin’s frustration as he used his magic.

“I’m sorry, Arthur. There’s a barrier preventing me from using my powers to heal Carter. I wish that wasn’t the case, but it is.”

“What about some potion, tincture? Something Carter could eat or drink that will help him?” Arthur suggested in earnest.

“I suppose I can research that, but I fear Morgana made sure anything beyond a transfusion wouldn’t work.”

“Merlin, could I speak to you for a moment?” Henry interrupted.

Merlin gave Arthur a sad look. He hated to give Arthur the impression that he was less powerful than he knew he was.

“Just go,” Arthur shooed him off.

Merlin left the room to speak with Henry. They stood just in the hallway, a few feet down from Carter’s bedroom.

Henry gave Merlin a grim look. “When you allowed me to speak to James, he told me about Carter’s ancestry. He said it was required that he possess such knowledge. But I believe Carter isn’t aware how extraordinary his bloodline is.”

Merlin sighed. “Carter knows about Lily. James told him about her. At least that she is Carter’s ancestor, not that she’s my daughter. Carter used magic through a spell allowing him to access the past. Carter could borrow her magic to break down wards I had made.”

Henry was surprised. “And this didn’t hurt Lily? Taking some of her magic?”

“In theory, no. The spell is not meant to take away a person’s magic permanently. Only give the chance for non-magic users with magical ancestors or descendants to receive magical aid from them. Besides, Lily was very powerful in her own right. She shouldn’t have been adversely affected by what Carter did,” he explained to Henry.

“Does Carter know everything about Lily?” Henry asked carefully, emphasizing the word “everything.”

Merlin shook his head. “No. I thought I had made the right decision all those years ago. When Lily’s youngest son didn’t possess magic, I thought enacting the spell preventing me from using magic – either to help or to harm – on those of my blood was wise. I had hurt friends in the past despite my best intentions. Hurting kin would’ve been even more painful. I wanted to avoid that. ”

Henry raised his hand, nodding. “You don’t need to explain. I understand the weight of immortality. How hard it can be at times to be reasonable when you only want to scream, demanding why you are trapped in this state without an end.”

“Yes, well, you are right. Now I have to suffer the cost of my choice. I wish I hadn’t made it absolute, that I’d left an opening to at least heal with my magic. But at the time, I believed being absolute was best. I couldn’t predict if my intent to help would lead to unwanted consequences. So I can’t help Carter with my magic. I can’t undo the spell either. I didn’t want to make the reversal that simple.”

Henry’s brow furrowed. “But there is a way to undo it, correct?”

Merlin nodded, but his tone was grim as he spoke. The solution was not a pleasant one. “Another magic user can reverse what I did. Unfortunately, I would lose my magic and all my descendants would lose the chance to possess magic. Not having magic is one matter, but to punish my descendants not yet born is even worse. I want magic to be preserved, to live on even in an age where most don’t see that real magic exists. If Carter’s life is the cost, then it is a burden I will have to bear.”

“I am sorry to hear that. I wish there was an easier way.”

“Me too,” Merlin said in resignation.

Henry made to leave, but Merlin grabbed his arm. “Lily’s youngest son and your old friend, James, are connected.”

Henry’s eyes widened. “What do you mean?”

“Carter may be James’s incarnation, but James himself is an incarnation.”

“What happened to her son? What was his name?” Henry was eager to know.

Merlin’s face fell. Why did he have to bring this up? It was always painful for him to discuss.

“His name was Thomas. He was only a few months old when he passed away. Thomas…” Merlin paused. He took a breath and then released it.

“Thomas stopped breathing one night. We never figured out why. Lily was devastated. I don’t think she was ever the same after that. Luckily she had her half-brother Rilian to help her cope with the loss. And to help take care of her six older children.”

“I would imagine he had assistance. One person can’t look after all those children.”

“Of course. I helped too and called on friends I knew well for their help.”

“Does James know about his past life?”

“No, I don’t think so. You could tell him if you want to,” Merlin suggested.

Henry sighed, rubbing the back of his head and appearing ill at ease. “It’s not my place. I don’t feel right even knowing about it. It’s terrible to lose a child. Being close to losing my son now is a living nightmare for me. I wish I didn’t feel so helpless.”

“If you need to be with your son now…” Merlin offered in understanding.

Henry shook his head. “No, no. That’s all right. I want to make sure Carter survives this. Abe is still in a coma. There’s not much I can do for him,” he said sadly.

Merlin patted his shoulder to show his support.

It was then that they heard Arthur from inside the room.

“Merlin? Henry? Carter’s awake.”

Merlin exchanged a look with Henry.

“All right. Thanks, Arthur. We’re coming,” Merlin assured him.

~ * ~


	6. Chapter 6

Ciaran sat up in his bed to find the last person he wanted to see at the moment. It was Mordred.

“I can’t get rid of you, can I?” Ciaran said, not bothering to hide his annoyance.

Mordred didn’t speak, just gave him a put-upon look as if Ciaran was a misbehaving child.

Ciaran wondered if his past life saw what he’d gone through in the dream. If he knew about Bran and that Ciaran had lost him.

“Did you see what happened while I was dreaming?” Ciaran asked when Mordred still seemed to refuse to speak.

Mordred nodded. “It’s an unfortunate consequence of our connection.”

“Then you can understand why I’m not in the mood to talk to you.”

“Of course,” Mordred said, his tone neutral. It was difficult for Ciaran to tell what he was thinking. This was a strange first conversation with his past life. Then again, he wasn’t sure what was normal for encounters like this. Especially with someone like Mordred.

Despite the memories he carried now of his past life, Ciaran still felt disconnected from them. He refused to let them take over. The life he had now was what he would rather cling on to.

Silence reigned once again.

“Why did you intervene? When I was ready to kill myself with the sword? You need me to live.”

Mordred sighed, looking impatient. “Yes.”

“What will happen if I die? You’ll face consequences?”

“Why ask when you clearly know it all?” Mordred retorted, his tone sarcastic.

Ciaran glared at him.

“Anyway, I thought you should know that Carter is ill. He might die.”

Ciaran immediately climbed out of bed. “What the hell are you talking about? What happened?”

Mordred shrugged, too unaffected after what he’d just told Ciaran.

Well, of course, Mordred wouldn’t care. Carter wasn’t his friend. Carter was just someone he saw Ciaran spend time with.

“I think Arthur did something,” Mordred informed him. “He wanted to get his revenge against you by hurting your friend. I guess Arthur is succeeding.”

Ciaran’s mood darkened even further. First he lost Bran, and now he would lose a close friend.

But then he remembered Bran’s words. To be vigilant, not to allow his past life to manipulate him or to take control.

What if Mordred was lying to him? Of course Mordred’s desire was to kill Arthur. So giving a fake reason why Arthur should die would be up his past life’s alley.

“Hold on, Carter told me Morgana abducted him and also stole some of his blood,” Ciaran said , eyes narrowing in suspicion at his past life. “She has to be behind Carter being ill. I don’t have proof that Arthur Pendragon would be interested in hurting a friend of mine.”

Mordred frowned. He looked mildly surprised, but he was quiet as if he was regathering his thoughts. Coming up with a more convincing argument for going after Arthur.

Ciaran hoped he would be ready. For Bran’s sake at least, so he wouldn’t have died in vain. That Ciaran wouldn’t follow in the same predictable footsteps as his past life. This new life was his second chance. Not an opportunity to kill King Arthur again.

Mordred looked up at him, eye to eye. “But King Arthur ordered the death of your close friend, remember? You could have had so much more with Kara. You could have had a family with her.”

“You mean you could have. What happened to Kara was terrible and unfortunate, but she’s in my past.”

“What is to stop Arthur Pendragon from hurting another friend of yours? He has done it once before. Maybe now, you don’t feel for Kara like you used to when you were me. But you can’t deny that Arthur Pendragon has a history of hurting those you care for, even love. He is as much as a potential perpetrator as Morgana is.”

“Then why did Morgana take Carter’s blood against his will?” Ciaran shot back, standing his ground.

“She doesn’t come out clean, I concede that. But Arthur is not the golden son of Camelot he was made out to be. Let me show you,” Mordred offered innocently.

The smile he had on his face worried Ciaran.

Backing away from Mordred, Ciaran said in defiance, “No. It will be a lie.”

“It is the truth. A painful one, but the truth no less,” Mordred told him in such a serious tone that Ciaran second-guessed himself.

Mordred sounded sad, like he wasn’t fond of what he wanted to show Ciaran.

Ciaran didn’t have the chance to refuse or accept before Mordred put a scene inside his mind’s eye.

Arthur was attacking Carter, sucking him dry like a vampire did to his human prey. And Carter collapsed to the ground, slumped, alarmingly lifeless as Arthur stood over him with a cold, unfeeling expression on his face.

The former king of Camelot didn’t care.

Again and again Ciaran saw the scene inside his mind until he fell to the floor, clutching his head.

“Stop it, Mordred. Just please STOP it,” he pleaded with his past life.

“Arthur Pendragon doesn’t want you to be happy. Perhaps he will give hope to many, but when it comes to you… I’m sorry that he is punishing you for being my incarnation. In the end, what are you willing to do? Lose the longest friendship you’ve had in this life, allowing Arthur Pendragon to win, or make him pay for hurting Carter? Someone who did nothing wrong but be your friend? Tell me, Ciaran, is it right that Carter should die because he’s your friend? The Once and Future King would have killed Bran Davies if he knew how miserable it would make you. He would have reveled in it.”

Ciaran stood up abruptly. He pointed his finger at Mordred.

“Don’t you fuckin’ dare bring up Bran. You may have the ability to eavesdrop into my life, into my dreams, but don’t shove it in my face!” He yelled.

Mordred raised his hands in surrender. “You have to admit it’s strange… King Arthur’s son and you… but…”

Ciaran felt his heart beating hard against his chest. He couldn’t think straight. The scene of Arthur attacking Carter still repeated in his head. He silently wished to make the attack stop, but it continued on in spite of his desperate pleas.

The worst was when Carter changed into Bran – the scene replaying so many times that maybe his brain was playing tricks on him. And Ciaran watched Bran die over and over again at Arthur’s hand. This was how Bran died, Ciaran thought. That’s what caused him to leave the dream, to leave Ciaran with only a final parting kiss…

“But what?” he said sharply. “Just say it.”

“Bran was nice to look at. Maybe you’re rubbing off on me,” Mordred shrugged.

Ciaran didn’t give him the benefit of an answer to that observation.

But also, Ciaran wasn’t going to stand by and do nothing. He wouldn’t let Arthur win.

“Make it stop. I’ve seen enough,” Ciaran demanded of Mordred. “I know what I need to do.”

Mordred appeared grim as he nodded. He stopped the scene, releasing Ciaran from the torturous replay to his great relief.

~ * ~

Merlin was startled when he saw Ciaran arrive in a fury of a spinning tornado.

His expression was hard as he surveyed everyone who was in Carter’s bedroom.

Dr. Henry Morgan sat by Carter’s bedside. He was unsettled by Ciaran’s sudden entrance in a manner he wasn’t used to witnessing. He wasn’t a part of the magical community after all.

But Henry still acted relatively calm despite the tense atmosphere. Being immortal did have its advantages – a certain feeling of invincibility even if it felt like a curse too. Merlin was all too familiar with that conflicting perspective on his own immortality.

Merlin was grateful that Arthur was next to him. He subtly nudged Arthur behind him. Arthur, stubborn as always, muttered his disapproval.

“I don’t think this is the best version of Ciaran at the moment. You and I both know you will be his primary target. I don’t know if Mordred is affecting him now or not,” Merlin hissed at him.

As Merlin feared, Ciaran directed his attention toward Arthur. His cold gaze fell on the former king of Camelot.

Ciaran looked ready to kill as he stood there, hands in fists and jaw clenched.

Fortunately he didn’t move to attack Arthur just yet. But Merlin didn’t miss the threat in his eyes.

Soon.

This was far from over.

It was just beginning.

Instead Ciaran approached Carter’s bed.

“Hey. What happened?” Ciaran asked him.

Carter was awake, but only barely. He appeared weary, face pale and dark circles around his eyes. He had trouble sitting up in bed.

Merlin watched Ciaran help his friend readjust his position.

“I should ask you the same thing,” Carter countered, giving him a weak smile. He waved his hand. “I got a bad case of anemia. And I guess I need alien blood to cure it.” Carter’s tone was light as if he were discussing the common cold and not a potentially fatal condition.

Ciaran looked to Henry for confirmation.

Henry was sad as he nodded. “Fortunately his past life is helping to keep him stronger than he otherwise would be.”

“But you don’t know how long that will last,” Ciaran shot back, frowning.

“Yes, that’s true,” Henry conceded. He looked grim. Merlin could tell he didn’t want to fail Ciaran’s friend as much as everyone else here. Because Carter was the incarnation of his old friend, a failure would be unthinkable. It would be like he was failing his friend too, not just Carter.

Merlin feared failure too. He had watched Carter grow up as his son and Carter developed their friendship. Merlin had grown to care for the boy as another son – even perhaps as his honorary uncle. And when Carter’s parents had died three years ago, he and Ciaran both supported Carter in any way they could. But Merlin had another reason why he couldn’t stand to see Carter die.

And Merlin didn’t doubt Morgana was aware of his closely guarded secret. That’s why she couldn’t resist focusing her plan on Carter.

“I haven’t encountered a precedent where the spirit of a past life strengthens their current incarnation by remaining inside them. This is new for me as I am sure it is for everyone in this room. We have to hope for a positive outcome,” Henry told Ciaran, though he didn’t look especially optimistic.

“Please stop talking like I’m not here,” Carter interjected, sounding put out. “Wish you all would have more faith.”

Ciaran gripped Carter’s hand. Perhaps a little too tightly, judging by Carter’s grimace.

“Sorry,” said Ciaran. He relaxed his grip, but still held on to his hand.

“This was Arthur’s fault,” Ciaran declared. He shot Arthur a vicious glare. The severity of the look even unnerved Merlin. If Mordred wasn’t controlling Ciaran yet, then Mordred was close to achieving it. “He wanted to make me lose you just because I used to be Mordred. Just for being the one who killed him.”

“Ciaran, no. It’s not his fault. Remember I told you Morgana took my blood? She’s behind all of this.”

Ciaran shook his head. “Don’t make excuses for him. It is and will always be Arthur Pendragon’s fault. When he’s dead, you will be better. I promise.”

“Man, you’re scaring me,” Carter uttered, tone painfully honest. “You’re going after the wrong person.”

“I don’t think so. Don’t worry, Carter. You’ll see. You’ll understand when I’m done.” Ciaran smiled at him.

Carter looked awfully tired, any fight he had to continue on this argument left him. His eyes fluttered closed. The blood loss hit him hard at that moment.

Henry spoke up, voice quiet. “He needs his rest.”

“Let him have it,” Ciaran said softly, nodding afterwards.

He looked down on his friend, wavering. Ciaran simply squeezed Carter’s shoulder, letting out a sigh as he watched his friend sleep for a few moments.

Then Ciaran turned his attention to Merlin and Arthur.

Alarmed, Merlin firmly stepped in front of Arthur. Ciaran’s eyes had changed from blue to black.

“Ciaran, please. I know you’re better than this.”

“Ciaran’s not here right now.”

Mordred’s voice and its harsh accent reminded Merlin of battles long since done. Yet he knew he had to be careful. His son was still in there. Mordred might have taken over, but Merlin had to believe Ciaran would return, that his son’s living spirit was too strong for Mordred to possess him indefinitely.

“What did you do to Ciaran?” Merlin demanded.

Mordred shrugged. “My incarnation has been through a lot recently. He needed a break. I decided to step in while he sorts things out. Ciaran will appreciate my thoughtful gesture.” He smiled, but the smile only solidified that Mordred was still a little half-mad.

“Thoughtful? Is that what you want to call it, Mordred?” Arthur shot back at him, ready for a fight.

Arthur tried to step out from behind Merlin. Merlin pushed Arthur behind him.

“Stay behind me or I will send you away. I promise I will. So don’t be a prat,” Merlin whispered to him, voice a hiss as he spoke.

Arthur snorted. “I will if you stop acting like I can’t handle myself. I’m not going to stand here being some ‘damsel in distress.’”

“Why bother protecting the has-been King, Emrys?” Mordred wondered. “He’s nothing in this present time. Most people now think King Arthur wasn’t even a real man. You brought him back too soon, Emrys. You’ve failed.”

Merlin closed his eyes, took a deep breath and then he exhaled.

“Once a failure, always a failure,” Mordred said, shaking his head.

Arthur knocked Merlin’s arm away, pushing it down. He moved out in front of Merlin. “I could say the same for you. I killed you, Mordred. You didn’t win either,” Arthur reminded him.

Mordred twisted his lips. “Haven’t lost all your brain cells in your return. How nice. But if my death was the cost for your death, then it was worth every moment. A commendable attempt to make me look like an idiot.”

Mordred turned to Henry Morgan then, a self-satisfied smile indicating he had something up his sleeve.

“I’m sure you want to see what this ‘legendary’ King did to the incarnation of your close friend. Why Carter is suffering from a nasty case of anemia.”

Henry looked uncertain. Yet there was a hint of undeniable curiosity. “I’m not sure I wish to. But I’m doubtful what I say will stop you.”

Mordred continued to smile. He flexed and extended his fingers on his right hand. “A diplomatic answer. I admire that.” He spoke again to Henry. “And what if I tell you the only way to save your son’s life is to kill King Arthur? It’s his destiny to always die by my hand.”

Henry was silent but Merlin saw the sad look on his face at the mention of his son. Merlin wished he could help the man. All he had was Mordred’s hollow promise.

Mordred turned his back on Henry. He looked at Arthur and Merlin. “Let me show you what really happened last night while the former king thought he was just sleeping.”

Merlin was torn between intervening and wanting to see what Mordred planned to show. Arthur’s body language led Merlin to choose the latter. Arthur rubbed the back of his head, frowning, and not willing to look Merlin in the eye.

“Arthur… what is it?”

He didn’t give Merlin an answer. He only shrugged helplessly.

Mordred gave a dark smile as if he knew just what Arthur was keeping secret.

Without further preamble, Mordred swept his hand against an empty wall. A scene was projected against the flat surface.

It was of Arthur and Carter. Arthur’s mouth was on Carter’s neck, his teeth sinking beneath his skin. Drops of blood could be seen on his neck and around Arthur’s mouth.

Carter collapsed to the ground, weakening from the loss of blood.

Henry Morgan closed his eyes, looking away from the difficult scene. He focused on making adjustments to the medication Carter was getting through his IV line.

Mordred raised his hand and swept it over the scene, ending the shocking attack.

“How some dreams can be easily forgotten,” said Mordred, still smiling. “It took some time for the effects of the dream to manifest in the real world. But eventually, Carter did become ill.”

Merlin stared at Arthur, disappointed in him. Arthur looked down, guilt clear on his face.

“What are you keeping from me?” Merlin asked him. “I understand if you forgot the dream. I would hope you’d have told me sooner if you did remember hurting Ciaran’s friend. But what haven’t you told me?”

“Merlin… I…” Arthur still didn’t seem ready to reveal the truth.

“Nervous, are we?” Mordred put in.

“Shut up,” Arthur bit out at him. He faced Merlin and he said, “Merlin, I was starving even after I ate something. I thought it was strange that I’d feel like that. Like I hadn’t eaten anything. But then I believed it was a side effect of my return. And then this morning, I felt better. I decided the side effect was temporary.”

Merlin shook his head, sad. He wished Arthur had confided in him sooner.

“I’m sorry, Merlin,” Arthur said, sounding truly apologetic for the omission. He looked miserable.

“Morgana enacted a spell that must have caused your body to consider the only adequate sustenance as blood. Carter’s blood. Ciaran will be lost to us if we don’t fix this,” Merlin told him.

Mordred spoke, “The only solution is to kill Arthur Pendragon.”

Before Merlin could say or do anything, time froze.

With his power, Merlin managed to keep himself from being stuck in Mordred’s time slowing spell. He saw everyone else come to halt. Henry Morgan sat motionless, one hand over Carter’s, while Arthur stood still, jaw clenched, stopped in mid movement as he probably aimed to attack Mordred.

Carter was still asleep, but what concerned Merlin was his chest wasn’t rising and falling with each breath. He rationally knew it was the effect of the time freezing spell, but Merlin couldn’t help but be worried all the same. Carter was close to death’s door after all.

“What do you want, Mordred?” Merlin demanded of him. He summoned his magic, readying himself for a defensive maneuver.

“The death of the Once and Future King. I thought I made that clear.” Mordred said, eyes narrowing as he observed Arthur trapped in his spell.

“I won’t let that happen,” Merlin declared.

Mordred shrugged. He picked up a mug on Carter’s bedside table. The “Deathly Hallows” mug was Carter’s favorite, Merlin knew. Ciaran had given it to him as birthday present due to their shared interest in the Harry Potter series. The Deathly Hallows symbol containing the Elder Wand, Resurrection Stone and the Cloak of Invisibility were emblazoned on the mug with the words, “The Deathly Hallows” below it. The cup had a red handle and the rim around it was red as well since red was Carter’s favorite color.

Mordred turned the mug around in his hand as if recalling an old memory. His recognition of the mug was an unpleasant reminder to Merlin. Mordred had always been a part of Ciaran’s life whether Merlin saw him or not. A threat hiding in the shadows who only now decided to show his face.

Mordred set the mug back down on the table. “Unfortunately, Ciaran still cares about you as his father. I prefer to keep the peace with him. I can’t hold control forever. It would not be good to overextend my time and leave Ciaran mentally unstable for the rest of his life. I’d be stuck in a psychiatric hospital with him.” He made a face, the thought of it being undesirable to him.

“Why don’t you let him go?” Merlin was desperate to know. “Why did you risk Ciaran’s well-being in the first place?”

“The chance to kill Arthur Pendragon once again was too worthwhile an opportunity to give up.”

Mordred put out his hand again and Merlin felt himself being forced to leave. The level of power Mordred was displaying surprised Merlin. He had to have been planning this for years – preparing what he needed and waiting to carry out his plan at the right moment.

Merlin used his magic to be able to choose his destination instead of Mordred. That was the most he could do. He prayed that Arthur would survive the encounter with Mordred. Hopefully Merlin could find his way back before the worst could happen.

“You failed to protect him from me once, Emrys. It is foolish to believe the Once and Future King is safe in your presence,” Mordred said to him, the words intended to hurt.

Merlin tried not to let Mordred’s words have an effect on him. But as he magically teleported out of the room, he had to admit the words did hurt. Because they were the truth – at least the first part.

~ * ~

Henry hurried to the bed when he saw that Carter was waking up. He set down the cup of strong tea he’d made for himself on the small coffee table at the corner closest to Carter’s bed. The tea was still too hot to drink – best to allow it time to cool.

However tempting it was to get a hold of some nice alcohol with a high alcoholic percentage, Henry grudgingly accepted it was not the best idea. Yet his son being in a coma and now the incarnation of an old friend being in danger of dying… oh how he wished he could just let go and drink his problems away.

He had experienced death by alcohol poisoning – more than once – and Henry didn’t care to repeat those experiences. Dying that way didn’t make him feel better. He only felt worse – still stuck in the depths of melancholy and self-pity. That was only until he picked himself up and kept busy with what he knew best – working in the medical profession as a doctor.

During one of these times, he had met Dr. James Carter. It’d been at the turn of the last century when exciting advancements were being made and new ideas explored. And James had been a great friend, colleague and most gratefully, the antidote Henry needed at the time as his cursed immortality darkened his view on his life. James had been the light, the much-needed reminder that life could be joyful and Henry remembered to hope again. Even when James was near death, he still encouraged Henry to see the beauty in the world.

Henry shook his head, taking himself out of his reverie. Continuing to think about James would lead to remembering his very last days. The pain and grief of his passing. And now especially, Henry knew he had needed to be hopeful and not to descend into a pit of misery. His son and James’s incarnation needed others to hope for them, not to give up and see them as lost causes.

He sat down beside the younger man.

Carter looked at him, blinking once as if he was puzzled why Henry was there.

“Where did everyone go?” Carter asked him.

Henry gave him a weak smile. He handed Carter the mug of water. Henry held the cup for him to keep it steady as he drank from it. Henry reminded him to sip slowly from it and not to drink too quickly.

He recalled Merlin being gone along with Ciaran—now possessed by Mordred apparently—and Arthur Pendragon. Henry had a feeling that Mordred had done some spell. He was using his time taking over Ciaran’s body for his revenge scheme. That very likely meant he had taken Arthur as a part of his plan. Wherever Merlin was, Henry hoped that he would be able to help the former king of Camelot.

Despite the great dismay he felt upon seeing that projected image – of what Arthur Pendragon had done to leave his friend’s incarnation in this troubling state – Henry wanted to give Arthur a chance. He clearly hadn’t intended to harm Carter. He couldn’t fault Arthur Pendragon for being an unwilling subject of Morgana’s spell.

“They needed to leave,” Henry told him simply.

Carter raised his brow at him, incredulous. “Seriously?”

Henry nodded.

“Right. Whatever you say,” Carter dismissed his lacking answer. He sighed. “I’m sorry, you know for not remembering my past life. Don’t know if I ever will…or if I want to,” he finished, sounding apologetic.

“It’s perfectly all right,” Henry was quick to reassure him. “I can imagine it’s overwhelming to regain memories of a whole other life. I’m grateful at least that James has been given a second chance at life through you.”

“If I survive this…” Carter muttered, eyes blinking in a futile attempt to stay awake.

“You will. I promise. I will make sure of it,” Henry said with as much conviction as he could muster.

He squeezed Carter’s hand.

“James kept apologizing to me the first few times I saw him. I’m still not sure why.” Carter confided in him. “My head is pounding,” he then said in such a low whisper Henry almost missed it.

“When I spoke to James last, he told me it was due to your recurrent pneumonia. That somehow you contracted it because he also had suffered a respiratory illness in his lifetime. One he unfortunately didn’t survive from. He was worried that there’d come a time when you would get pneumonia—”

“And I would die from it? So in an indirect way, my past life would blame himself for my death,” Carter concluded, his voice one of disbelief. “Once I get better, I will tell James he’s wrong for thinking that way. It’s not his fault. I’m not the only one who has this stupid recurrent condition. It happens and it sucks having it, but my past life shouldn’t be blaming himself.”

Henry couldn’t resist smiling hearing that Carter had said “once I get better” instead of “if.” Sometimes righteous indignation could be a good thing. Henry was glad he was able to assist in a small way by letting Carter know the reason behind James’s apology.

When Carter fell back asleep, Henry felt brave enough to lean forward and press a kiss to his brow. For a moment, one fleeting moment, Henry saw Carter change physical appearance. He became older—from a young man in his early university years to a man in his mid-thirties. His face resembled James’s, and his clothes fit more to the early 20th century than to the second decade of the 21st century.

Henry was relieved that it was the James he wished to remember. Not the one who looked far too pale and sickly and gaunt as the TB weakened him.

 (Reference image: Henry Morgan & James Carter, 1906, when James was sick)

No. It was a healthy James who still had color in his face and who was simply resting, peaceful in his sleep.

The moment passed, but it was enough to lift Henry’s mood. Things would work out. They had to. James’s spirit was inside Carter keeping him alive for as long as he was able. Henry wouldn’t fail the both of them.

~ * ~

“Merlin! What brings you here?” Freya asked in surprise.

Merlin was grim and he knew his face probably showed it.

“Ciaran has been possessed by Mordred,” Merlin informed her. “He wants to kill Arthur, and I fear too that Ciaran won’t survive Mordred taking him over either.”

Weary of life and frustrated at what Fate had dealt him now, Merlin just about collapsed at the bank of the lake of Avalon. He sat cross-legged in front of Freya who floated over the lake before him.

“I am sorry to hear that. Should you not go after Mordred? Protect the Once and Future King?” Freya asked.

She peered at Merlin in confusion as he continued to sit, his hands lying flat, palm down, on the ground behind him as if they were anchoring him.

Merlin knew how he must look. Seeming to be content with just sitting here, and not acting frantic to return home and save Arthur. And force Mordred to relinquish control of his son’s body.

“I should,” Merlin conceded. “But Mordred was right,” he told her, the words hard to say but they were true. “I ultimately wasn’t able to save Arthur in the days of Camelot. My failure caused Camelot to be without her King, the Knights without their commander, and Gwen to continue on without her husband and being thrust into a role she had no choice but to embrace amidst her grief.”

“Merlin, don’t think like that,” she implored of him. “Perhaps, yes, you weren’t able to save Arthur in the end like you wanted. But you shouldn’t let go of this chance now to save him, to stop Mordred.”

Merlin shrugged his shoulders. “The one conciliation is that Ciaran still cares for me as his father. That’s why Mordred forced me to leave. He didn’t want to deal with Ciaran’s anger at him for hurting me. Or killing me.”

“But you can’t die, Merlin,” Freya told him as if he could forget that after all his years of living.

“I guess it’s the principle of the matter. I suppose I raised Ciaran well enough for him to know right from wrong. And killing me, no matter how many arguments we have throughout the years, is never the solution. It won’t make Ciaran happy. I have enough faith in him to believe that. I only wish I had the courage to admit to him that he was Mordred in his past life, instead of him finding out through other means.”

“I believe Morgana told him he was Mordred. Before Ciaran encountered Kara and his old memories returned.”

“Great,” Merlin said darkly. “Of course it’s always Morgana.”

Freya sighed. Then her face brightened as if she remembered something that gave her happiness. “There is something I wish to speak to you about, Merlin. It is good news, so you will be glad to hear of it.”

“What is it, Freya?”

“Arthur’s sword that was stolen from me – a failure on my part and one I have sought long and hard to resolve – has a chance of being found,” she told him, smiling and appearing pleased.

Freya’s good mood lifted Merlin’s own.

“How can Excalibur be found?”

“The King of Midsummer has a special book that provides clues to the sword’s current resting place. Only the sword’s true wielder, Arthur Pendragon, can read the book and decipher the clues.”

Merlin was confused. There was a kingdom called Midsummer? In all his long years, he’d never heard or visited a place going by that name. “And where exactly is Midsummer? I’ve never heard of such a place.”

“That is understandable as Midsummer is within the Realm of the Stars. The star who gave Dr. Henry Morgan his immortality was from Midsummer.”

“Pip?”

Freya nodded. “He was an advisor to the king there. The king’s name is Bran. He presently rules Midsummer. He has been the king for the last 250 years or so.”

Merlin stood up quickly and he approached Freya. “Wait. King Bran? I saw Henry’s memory of Pip’s last moments. The king was there. He was albino. I should’ve considered the connection sooner!” He exclaimed, irritated with himself.

“Midsummer is in another reality, Merlin. A reality where King Bran’s past life was as Bran Davies who was actually King Arthur’s true-born son—”

“—brought forward in time and raised by a farmer in rural Wales,” Merlin finished. He read through that series so many times that he’d memorized some scenes word for word. “But then how did Pip come into our reality?”

Freya frowned. “I am not very familiar with all the abilities the subjects of the Star Realm possess. But I imagine they can more easily slip into other realities compared to humans. Pip must have opened up a portal to our reality during his fall. Whether unintentionally or not is uncertain, but most likely he had little control over his actions.”

“The shock of the fall forced some barrier to break, maybe,” Merlin thought out loud. “To let Pip through and somehow he landed in the very ship Henry was on.”

Freya agreed.

“How can Arthur get this book if it’s in the Realm of the Stars, in another reality no less?” Merlin was curious to know.

“Rest assured that the King of Midsummer will deliver the book to Arthur Pendragon. I’ve heard news that King Bran is in our reality as we speak.”

Merlin rubbed his face to battle the exhaustion determined to settle. It had been a long, trying day. “I should return home. Make sure Carter is all right. Hopefully I can find out where Mordred took Arthur.”

“Goodbye, Merlin. And good luck,” Freya wished him with a kind smile.

~ * ~


	7. Chapter 7

Arthur found himself in shackles. The shackles were connected to metal chains bolted to a cold stone wall. If he didn’t know better, he’d think he was in a dungeon of some sort.

But how did Mordred come across a dungeon? Arthur hadn’t gotten the impression that dungeons were commonplace in this day and age.

Mordred sat in a chair before him, arms crossed against his chest.

He smiled, standing up.

“It’s good to see you awake.”

“You have to let Ciaran go, Mordred,” Arthur told him, trying to sound more authoritative and unafraid than he felt.

Mordred smirked. “He’s not a goner yet. Give me some credit. I’ve waited too long to have a heart to heart with you. In private.”

Arthur tried to rip the chains from the unforgiving wall behind him.

“Don’t waste your energy,” Mordred said. “Or do if you really want to. If you prefer to lose quicker.”

Arthur growled at him. “You won’t win.”

“I killed you once. I can do so again. What can I say – I’m feeling nostalgic.” Mordred shrugged.

“What did you do to Merlin? And Carter and Henry Morgan?” Arthur demanded.

“Ciaran has an attachment to Merlin being that he is the only father he has ever known. Carter is his friend and he requires a doctor tending to him. So I let Carter and Henry Morgan be. Unfortunately for you, Ciaran cares little for what happens to you.”

“What did you do with Merlin? You didn’t leave him be, did you? Merlin would’ve fought you. He would have been determined to save me.”

“Such a big head for a small body,” Mordred retorted, rolling his eyes. “Merlin’s not locked away in a dungeon. Is that satisfactory, Your Majesty? Only you have the special honour of being at my mercy. Congratulations.”

Arthur yelled out as Mordred said a spell that caused him excruciating pain. Arthur felt like hundreds of sharp pins and needles were piercing his body all at once.

The pain may have lasted only a few minutes, but to Arthur, it felt much longer.

After the torturous pain, the spell ended, and Arthur was allowed to breathe. He collapsed to the hard ground, his legs feeling unsteady as tremors ran through them. His hands shook and he breathed in and out as he attempted to regain a sense of calm.

It was near impossible with Mordred still watching him. Arthur had no idea what else Mordred had in store for him.

Mordred smirked. “Not painful enough?”

“You will regret this,” Arthur shot back at him.

Mordred looked doubtful, smiling.

Then before Mordred went for another round, a woman appeared in the room.

Arthur wasn’t sure if he should be grateful to see Morgana or dread what she would do to him.

Because Morgana would side with Mordred over him. Arthur didn’t doubt that.

To Arthur’s surprise, however, Morgana directed her glare at Mordred.

She waved her right hand at Mordred. Arthur was shocked to see that the hand was made of silver metal.

“I lost my bloody hand because of you!”

Mordred’s smile widened. “So the splinching worked. I did learn something useful from that fictional book series Ciaran likes so much.”

“You got this from Harry Potter?” Morgana exclaimed in disbelief.

“I was waiting for an acceptable test subject. And you seemed so willing.”

“Willing?! How dare you!” She yelled at him.

Morgana looked ready to throttle Mordred.

Mordred raised his hand.

“I am glad you came, Morgana. I wanted to speak to your past life.”

“You can’t,” she bit out, annoyed.

“Exactly,” Mordred said darkly. “You tell me that you sedate her, put her down like some bad dog. And you think, I – as a past life myself – would be on your side.”

“Mordred… I…”

“There is nothing you can say or do. I believe it’s time to wake her up.”

“Only I can undo the spell.”

“You underestimate my abilities,” Mordred said sharply.

Mordred said a few well-chosen words in Latin and a dark mist enveloped her body.

Arthur watched as Morgana screamed. She fell to the ground in a graceless heap.

Her skin turned ashen.

“The wicked witch is dead,” Mordred said out loud, the amusement clear in his voice.

He looked at Arthur with a smile of intent on his face.

Arthur stood up as best as he could on his shaky legs.

“Haven’t you done enough?” Arthur said wearily.

Mordred shook his head. “Not a chance.”

Arthur grit his teeth, preparing himself for another round of torture.

But then another person appeared in the room. He stood in front of Arthur, blocking his view of Mordred.

Arthur saw that the man had white hair but the uniform he wore was dark. A strong glow surrounded him at first, but it subsided as he stood there.

The stranger said one word, a sadness in his voice. “Ciaran.”

~ * ~

Mordred stared at the man his incarnation had met in that dream and watched disappear.

“He’s not here,” Mordred told him. “Is it really you? Didn’t you die?”

“Yes, it’s me, Bran. I was reborn,” he confirmed.

Bran straightened, appearing taller than he had a moment ago. His black double-breasted uniform top had silver buttons lining both sides, and was paired up with well-fitted dark pants. It appeared that even in his new life, Bran still preferred dark clothing. “You will release Ciaran. Killing Arthur Pendragon will not solve anything.”

“What do you know? You don’t understand how much pain he’s caused me. In the past and now, Ciaran has to lose his closest friend because the Once and Future King wants to make him pay for my mistakes. He is no saint of a King.”

Arthur spoke up then. His voice was raised as he spoke. “You were the one who struck me first, Mordred. I was only defending myself. And it was Morgana who did the spell that made me attack Carter in the dream. I don’t know how she did it, but it was her doing. She stole Carter’s blood, and she must have made me a participant in the spell without my knowledge.”

Mordred whipped his head around, giving him a mirthless smile. “The waters of Avalon were poisoned not long before your return. Morgana made a special undetectable poison and poured it into the lake.”

“How do you know that?” Arthur demanded.

Mordred shrugged. “I’m not fully sure that was her method. But it is what I hoped to do. Except I would have put Emrys at the other end of the spell. An experiment if you want, to see how many times Arthur Pendragon can kill him by draining him of his blood. It would have been a true test how much Emrys can endure before his immortality stops working for him. ”

“Mordred!” Bran exclaimed, his tone stern almost scolding. “You will kill Ciaran if you continue to possess him. You have never tried this before. You can’t trust that this possession will work in your favor. If Ciaran dies, you know where that will leave you.”

Mordred narrowed his eyes. Bran knew. He hated that. It was a truth he wasn’t fond of others knowing.

“What happened to you? You were not reincarnated as a human. I saw you glow when you came.”

Bran sighed. “I’m not, no. I remember my past life though. And I wish I hadn’t had my life ripped away from me so soon,” he confided sadly. “I was reborn as a Star. In my reality, I’ve been the King of Midsummer in the Star Realm for 250 years now.”

“That’s not possible,” Mordred refuted, annoyed at this impossible story he was being told. It had to be a lie. “Ciaran saw you only hours ago in the dream. That much time couldn’t have passed. You don’t even look older than he saw you last.”

“I was reborn in the 18th century. Apparently there was a power vacuum, and I was needed to fill it. I could do nothing but accept my responsibility when I came of age. Stars are slow to age, so the years might not show on my face.”

“Of course you would be King. Your past life must have been a factor. Just like Ciaran can never really let go of the darkness no matter how much he wishes he can. I will always be a part of him.”

“I need you to release him,” Bran again asked of Mordred.

“Or what? You’ll kill me? Go ahead!”

“I can’t do that.” Bran said, his voice quiet.

Mordred was about to goad Bran again when mysterious voices created a chorus of noise in his head.

He grabbed his head, overwhelmed by the abrupt invasion.

_“Kill Arthur Pendragon. He needs to die. Kill him!”_

_“The Once and Future King won’t stop until he ends the lives of all those you care for. Your friends now and the ones you will make. You must stop Arthur Pendragon before you’re left alone and miserable.”_

_“The King of Midsummer needs to die too. He is a part of the problem as well. He will always be the Pendragon…”_

_“… the son of King Arthur, destined to die by your hand.”_

“Release Ciaran, Mordred! He will not survive this if you don’t heed my warning,” Bran advised him, his voice loud and commanding.

“Mordreds from other realities -- they are in my head. I can’t stop their voices. They’re too strong,” Mordred told him.

He fell to the ground, hands on either side of his head, grabbing at his hair and trying to rip locks of hair from his head. As if the pain of that would stop the cacophony of voices.

_Kill, kill, kill…_

Killing Arthur didn’t bother him. It was the call to kill Bran that Mordred refused to give in to.

Ciaran’s feelings for Bran influenced his opinion of the now King of some kingdom in the Star Realm.

“I need to make them stop.” Mordred said out loud, his voice full of desperation.

As the voices overwhelmed Mordred, they took away his concentration on maintaining control over his incarnation’s body.

Ciaran stood up, though he stumbled in the midst of reasserting control over his own body. He felt sweat coming down his face, and he wiped at his forehead. The voices of the other Mordreds still shouted inside his head. They hadn’t left when Mordred retreated.

“Ciaran. I can help you,” Bran offered to him.

Ciaran breathed quickly in and out. He stared at Bran, unblinking. “No. Don’t bother.”

Ciaran raised his hand and Bran began choking, clutching at his throat.

He heard Arthur grow restless behind him, chains rattling as Arthur tried vainly to free himself.

“Stop it, Ciaran! He’s only trying to help you,” Arthur yelled amongst the frantic rattling of his chains.

“He is a Star. I think he can survive more than the average mortal human,” Ciaran replied, his voice all too calm.

A voice deep down inside him cried out, telling him to stop. This was still Bran, Ciaran still cared for him and he was doing this against his own free will. Was that what he really wanted? To kill because he was being forced to? Could Ciaran live with himself knowing he’d ended the life of someone he had grown fond of?

“Shut up. Shut up. Shut up,” Ciaran muttered to himself.

He disregarded the voice, batting it away like an annoying fly.

Ciaran watched, feeling numb, as Bran continued to choke, his face turning blue.

If he was a Star, Ciaran wondered why he couldn’t stop it. Save himself? Unless he had no magic that could do such a thing?

He noticed the sword at his hip was burning with a blue fire.

He frowned at the sight. “Why is your sword lit up?” Ciaran wanted to know.

He released Bran from his choking spell so that he could speak.

Bran gasped, leaning back against the opposite wall. Once he got his breath back, he said, “It’s not other Mordreds, Ciaran. It’s the Dark playing a game with you. Please, Ciaran. You’re better than being a pawn for them. You were my voice of reason in the dream we shared. Now I want to return the favour. Please let me.”

Ciaran looked at him, surveying Bran as if for the first time in this new incarnation of his dream companion.

“But I thought you destroyed the Dark,” Ciaran pointed out, puzzled.

Bran nodded, his hand pressed to the wall. He straightened up slowly, still regaining his bearings from being choked.

“In my world, yes. But in other worlds, they can find a way in. Even in small ways such as making you believe the other Mordreds are speaking to you. So they could persuade you to hurt others.”

The voices, seeming disheartened by Ciaran not hurting Bran anymore, fell silent.

Or maybe it was Bran making him aware that the voices were a construct of the Dark? The trick was a trick no longer.

Ciaran wouldn’t give the Dark the satisfaction of being a player in their twisted game.

He approached Bran, putting his hand on his cheek. “It’s been a long time for you, hasn’t it? And I barely had a chance to grieve.”

“Now you don’t have to,” Bran told him quietly.

Ciaran stepped away from him. “But still, Carter is going to die. I can’t help him,” He said, resigned to losing his friend.

“I came here to tell you that there is hope for him, Ciaran.”

“What is it?”

“I’ll tell you in a moment. But first--” Bran stopped. He nodded toward Arthur and then he gave Ciaran a significant look.

Ciaran sighed. He turned around, and he released Arthur from his shackles. He magically healed the lingering physical pain Arthur felt as well.

“I’m sorry,” he said to Arthur quickly, finding the words hard to say. No one said he had to be really sincere about it. Or happy apologizing. Who was happy apologizing anyway?

Arthur stared at him. “Thanks,” he said, sounding more confused than anything else.

He rubbed at his wrists where the shackles had dug into his skin. There was only slight redness present now, the only indication that Arthur had been restrained.

Bran stepped forward then, approaching Arthur. He handed him a book. “This will show you the way to your sword, Excalibur. The sword was stolen many years ago. But now with your return, you have the chance of finding it as is your right as the Once and Future King.”

“Thank you. I appreciate it – Your Majesty, is it?”

“Bran is fine. I can send you back home, to where you reside with Merlin. Is that right?”

“Yes. But how will Carter be saved? He needs a blood transfusion, doesn’t he?” Arthur was curious to know.

“I doubt Morgana expected aid from another reality when she concocted her spell. Don’t you agree?” Bran smiled.

Arthur looked at him in doubt, frowning. “Are you actually from a different reality? I have to admit that that sounds ridiculous.”

“I didn’t believe it either until I met Ciaran in a dream. But here we are.” Bran spread his arms out indicating the dungeon in a reality that wasn’t his own.

“Very well. Take me back.”

Bran touched his shoulder and several rings of starlight surrounded Arthur before he faded away, transported back home, presumably.

“I’m surprised he didn’t question you about your past life,” Ciaran mused.

Bran raised his brow at him. “Mordred tortured him here, Ciaran. I’m sure he wanted to get as far away from this dungeon as fast as he could. I would feel the same if I were him.”

Ciaran bit his lip, face falling at the recent memory of his past life’s actions. He had witnessed the whole thing, but he could do nothing about it as he’d been trapped in his own body while Mordred held the reins.

Bran held out his hand to Ciaran. “Come on. We can talk in Midsummer. The Dark may still be inside you even if they have gone quiet. In my kingdom, I have a book containing spells meant to check that you’re free of the Dark.”

Ciaran nodded, taking Bran’s hand. “You can travel between realities? How do you know I won’t explode or something if I’m in a different reality?”

Bran rolled his eyes. “If you’ve gotten all your shots, you’ll be all right. Trust me.”

He didn’t miss the sarcasm in Bran’s voice.

“I don’t see how you’ve been King for 250 years, and still act like the Bran I remember in our dream.”

Bran shrugged. “My past life and current life have found a balance. I’m the King when I’m amongst my subjects, and they expect me to be wise and making thoughtful decisions for the good of Midsummer. But seeing you again, I knew you would better respond to how you saw me last.”

“You don’t have to pretend with me. I definitely can’t imagine choosing to be my past life. I almost succeeded in killing Arthur Pendragon - I would have, if you hadn’t stopped me.”

Bran shook his head. “No. I don’t feel forced to do this, Ciaran. There were times in my past life I wish I could forget, but meeting you wasn’t one of them. It’s freeing to go back to that… in a way, to continue the dream we shared. I wish I hadn’t left you behind there.”

Ciaran frowned, turning away from him. “I did reach Camelot, you know. But I destroyed the castle with my magic. I guess I don’t have the best coping skills.”

“Ciaran…” Bran beckoned him, his voice sad as he touched Ciaran’s shoulder.

Ciaran faced him again. “How did you die?”

Bran shook his head. “I’m sorry. I’m not ready to talk about it. That’s something I want to forget from my old life. No luck.”

Ciaran looked at him carefully. “Did I have--?”

Bran was quick to cut in. “No, you had nothing to do with my death. Don’t even dare think you did.”

Ciaran didn’t answer, still feeling doubtful. Even if it was near impossible. Unless he would one day develop the ability to time travel along with traveling between realities? Even then, could he see himself causing Bran’s death?

Ciaran couldn’t stand the thought. He’d sooner end his life than kill Bran.

“We should go,” Bran decided.

Ciaran allowed Bran to kiss him. It was as if Bran knew he was feeling conflicted and was attempting to distract him.

Gratefully, Ciaran returned the kiss, his response one of urgency as he gripped Bran’s white hair and pressed his lips against his, tasting a lingering honey-like sweetness on Bran’s mouth. The contact spoke not just of desperation, but of need too. He closed his eyes, not wanting to see the dungeon anymore. He only wanted to focus on feeling, on having Bran back when a few hours ago, Ciaran had believed that impossible.

He felt himself being swept away as Bran took them to his reality.

~ * ~

“It has been months, Alice,” Merlin remarked. “I need to get to Arthur. I’m afraid I don’t have much time to talk.”

Merlin had been surprised when Ciaran’s birth mother called him on his mobile. While he was eager to seek out Arthur and get his son back, Merlin had decided to stay in England, so when she had contacted him he had agreed to stop by her flat as she requested. If Alice had made the effort to contact him after almost a year without so much as a quick call, Merlin couldn’t refuse her invitation to visit. He just couldn’t dismiss the urgency in her voice.

Alice sighed. “This is important. Forgive me for not telling you sooner. I have one thing I must know: did my son have a dream?”

Merlin frowned. “Ciaran was asleep for some time. I’m not sure if he dreamed or not. Perhaps he did.”

That was when Merlin recalled Mordred oddly asking him about Bran Davies. What if there was a good reason for that?

What if Ciaran had met Bran in a dream? As far as Merlin was aware, Ciaran didn’t know about The Dark is Rising book series. At least, Ciaran had never asked him about it.But a meeting was the best explanation for Ciaran’s past life looking through “The Grey King”, the book where Bran Davies had been introduced. After all, Mordred could see into Ciaran’s dream.

“I need to tell you about Ciaran’s father. There was unpleasantness in his family history.”

Merlin narrowed his eyes. He hated to admit that this wasn’t too shocking considering Ciaran was Mordred’s incarnation. Most versions of Arthurian legend gave him a tumultuous start, whether it was as the bastard son of King Arthur or a child of King Arthur’s enemies or another equally unfortunate beginning.

“What is it, Alice? Just say it. I promise not to interrupt,” Merlin assured her.

He sipped at his black tea. While Merlin idly wished it was a stronger drink, he had resigned himself to the fact that he needed to be sober to hear what Alice had to say. Being half-drunk wouldn’t help his situation.

“I believe you remember when Freya gave Rilian Excalibur? To ensure the sword wouldn’t remain in one place, and be vulnerable to thieves as a result. No matter the magical protections within the Lake, if one was determined enough, they could obtain the sword.”

Merlin nodded. “But how do you know about that?”

“I met with Orion, Ciaran’s father, a few months ago. He revealed to me that Rilian is his ancestor.”

“Rilian was the son I adopted in the 19th century.”

“And you had Lily with his mother?”

“Yes. I sometimes preferred to live a solitary life, waiting for Arthur’s return. But there were periods where I yearned for companionship… and my time with Melisande and her son, and then our daughter, Lily… that was one of those times. Some of the happiest of my long life.”

Alice gave him a small smile. “I can never say enough how grateful I am that you took Ciaran in. When he was a burden you didn’t expect to have.”

Merlin shook his head. “No, Ciaran wasn’t a burden. I was glad of his company. Watching him grow and develop brought joy into my life.”

“That’s heartening to hear. Hopefully one day I will gather the courage to visit him. I expect Ciaran is not happy with me.”

“The fact you don’t want to maintain contact with him does bother Ciaran. But I’m sure he will give you a chance. Don’t give up, Alice.”

“Thank you,” she said, with an appreciative smile. She took a deep breath. “Regarding Rilian, Orion told him that Rilian was on his way to hide Excalibur when he was stopped.”

“I do know that Excalibur was stolen around this time. Rilian never managed to hide it in a new location. And I remember him telling me that he honestly couldn’t recall what happened to the sword. He felt awful about it. Not even Lily could persuade him that he shouldn’t blame himself. Other forces were at work, I believe. Someone placed a memory altering spell on him.”

Alice nodded, looking sad. “A female, who was not human but a Star, stole the sword from him. But not before she assaulted Rilian. She had his baby and left the poor child in the care of an unsuspecting couple. They raised the baby as their own, never knowing of the event that brought the young one into the world. The woman returned to her own reality, if there is such a thing as other realities, and faced judgment in the kingdom of Midsummer where she was a citizen. The King wanted to try her for stealing Excalibur, but she’d already sold it in the magic black market shortly following her attack on Rilian. The sword was long gone, whereabouts unclear, by the time the female returned to Midsummer.”

“Did she also have anything to do with the death of the King’s companion? I believe his name was Pip.”

Alice nodded. “She couldn’t resist the chance to hurt a close confidante of the King. She’d hoped it would break the King to lose a friend like that. A desperate revenge attempt when the King aimed to sentence her to death – for not only stealing a precious magical sword but taking a human against his will and then making Rilian forget about the assault. Some may say this was a blessing for Rilian. He didn’t have to live with the memory of the assault, but still… the choice to remember or not was forced out of his hands. No one wants to be denied their right to choose.”

“And Rilian never knew of this child’s existence. Was the baby a boy or a girl?”

“A boy. And that’s a dark part of Orion’s family history. Now, it is Ciaran’s family history as well. And there is a prophecy that Ciaran will kill the King of Midsummer. The King’s name is Bran, I believe?”

“And here I was worried Ciaran would hurt Arthur…” Merlin muttered more to himself.

“You have to watch Ciaran, Merlin. Closer than before. This might be the final revenge of that female Star. That one of her bloodline would destroy the King that ordered her death. The murder of Pip only made the King ensure her execution.”

Merlin reached out and squeezed her hand. He felt so tired; even more so than before if that was possible. “I promise, Alice. I will keep an eye on him. I trust Ciaran though. I do believe the last thing he wants to be is a murderer. Even with Mordred as his past life, I know Ciaran is strong. He won’t fall prey to some prophecy. I won’t let him.”

~ * ~

“Where are we?” Ciaran asked Bran.

Ciaran stepped out onto the balcony, welcoming the cool night air. He looked up and watched the stars shining in the dark evening sky.

He turned to Bran who had come out to stand beside him. Ciaran waved his hand. “Besides being in Midsummer, I mean.”

“The Astronomy Tower in the castle.”

“Right. Intentional, was it? Seems sort of…what’s the word, romantic?”

Bran let out a huff of breath, protesting Ciaran’s suggestion. “That wasn’t my intention.”

“Of course not.” Ciaran wasn’t buying it. “So, how are you going to help Carter?”

Bran tapped his fingers on the balcony railing. “While I can’t meet with Will personally, I’ve been able to track his movements over the years. He’s been keeping busy. I believe that Will can provide your friend with the blood he needs.”

Ciaran frowned. He did his best to brush off the lingering jealousy he felt at the mention of Will. There was little he could do about it. Will and Bran would always be connected no matter the physical distance between them. It felt similar to his friendship with Carter. If anyone had tried to come between them and force them to stop being friends, Ciaran would never stand for it. So how could he do the same to Bran? Ciaran didn’t want to be a hypocrite. He had enough labels to deal with, and he definitely didn’t want to add another bad one.

“You wanted so badly to see Will Stanton again. And you’re telling me you haven’t approached him?”

Bran sighed. He looked out at the view in front of him. “I made my peace with the fact that now, our paths are separate. We may have come together when we were just children to defeat the Dark, but now that we are older, I guess we must remain apart. Even if our goals are similar – to ensure the Dark doesn’t gain a foothold in the other realities.”

“I’m sorry, Bran,” Ciaran said, hoping he sounded like he meant it. Even if deep down, he still felt unhappy about Will being the invisible third man in this relationship.

“No, you’re not,” Bran retorted, all too knowingly. “I know this is a pain for you. But I wouldn’t have brought you here if I didn’t want to pursue a relationship with you.”

“And when Will does see you again, and you find you have a chance to be with him? What will happen then?”

Bran looked uncertain. “I don’t have the answer to that. I wouldn’t want to abandon you, Ciaran. But you may even find someone else to love by that time. Neither you nor I can predict the future. In the here and now, I just know that I hated our time in the dream being cut short. I want to be with you now to see where we can take our relationship.”

“Aren’t you supposed to have a Queen or something? Being King and all?”

“That isn’t a requirement,” Bran told him dismissively. “Will you give me a chance?”

Ciaran studied him carefully. He could see the honesty in Bran’s tawny-golden eyes, the lightness of them seeming unable to conceal the truth. Bran wanted this just as he was saying out loud. And Ciaran didn’t want to refuse him. Especially when Ciaran himself was very willing to continue their relationship and see where it led.

“I suppose… all right,” Ciaran agreed.

Ciaran shrugged as he tried poorly to hide how much this meant to him… how much Bran offering an opening was a development he could use amidst the recent mess his life had become. What with being possessed by Mordred, his father’s distrust of him, being on the verge of losing Carter…

Bran wasn’t fooled by the act, as Ciaran had expected.

“Ciaran…” he started, but he paused upon seeing Ciaran’s weary look. “If you want to leave, I can take you back.”

“No…it’s fine. I just sort of wish things were like they were before. Now everything is so complicated,” Ciaran admitted. Then he added quickly, wanting to reassure Bran, “But I don’t regret meeting you. Never that.”

“I can tell you how Will plans to save your friend. He’s going to give Carter his blood.”

“What – because someone from another reality counts as an alien?” Ciaran put out there on a wild lark. Even if as he thought about it, though, that made sense in this context. Carter’s blood type had essentially become alien thanks to Morgana’s curse. So why wouldn’t blood from another reality, an alien world really, work?

Bran nodded. “Yes. And interestingly enough, Will has the same blood type – AB positive – as Carter.”

“I’m sure that’s a coincidence,” Ciaran remarked. He was unable to stop from being suspicious.

Bran looked a bit sheepish. He shrugged. “Well, it’s a good thing for the sake of your friend that this coincidence works in his favour.”

“Yes, of course,” Ciaran said with a nod.

Bran looked out over the balcony, remaining silent, which left Ciaran as the one to break the silence. Or to stay here letting the tense silence continue on.

“If you’re right, and Will is going to give his own blood, then I guess it’s hard to dislike him,” Ciaran said with a resigned sigh. “Especially when I thought I would be facing Carter’s death. And I’m not sure if I could bear a life without him. Carter’s always been the friend I can count on.”

“From what I’ve heard, the Light finds your friend important,” Bran let him know. “Or more like, his children, their children, and so on. Magic will return into the bloodline Carter’s a part of through his descendants. And they will have key roles in major future events.”

“What major events?”

“The details are kept secret. I’m not even fully aware of them. Anyway, the less you know, the better. Knowing the future could lead to worry and you forget to live and enjoy life in the here and now.”

Bran gave him a significant look as if encouraging Ciaran to do exactly that – to live in the moment and not be burdened by the thoughts of what the future could hold.

Ciaran couldn’t help but sigh. “Yeah, guess so. I’m sure if I could see into my future, I’d probably have murdered someone. History does like to repeat itself,” he said in resignation.

Bran frowned. “Don’t think like that, Ciaran.”

He leaned forward, one hand tangled in Ciaran’s hair, the other placed over Ciaran’s own hand on the balcony railing. Bran kissed him, preventing Ciaran from speaking.

After a few long moments, they parted to catch their breaths.

“Back there, in the dungeon, you could have saved yourself, right? Stopped me from choking you?” Ciaran was earnest, wanting to know.

“I may have some level of magic, but it’s not easy to use it when my main focus was trying to breathe. I don’t do the greatest under that kind of pressure. But I was hoping you would stop the spell. I believed in you, Ciaran. I was sure you would come through; that the Dark couldn’t manipulate you forever. I was proven right.”

Ciaran huffed. “You had more faith in me than I do. But thanks.”

Bran gave him clothing that allowed Ciaran to blend in better with everyone else in Midsummer. Ciaran now wore dark well-fitted pants coupled with a white shirt. The shirt had delicate silver embroidery across the top, bottom and at the sleeve edges. As they walked the corridors, passing by servants and other denizens of the castle, Bran told Ciaran that as far as everyone knew, Ciaran was here to seek aid for a friend. Which wasn’t a complete lie, so it worked.

After Ciaran underwent a series of magical spells – nothing painful, just took a long time – he was grateful when Bran confirmed that he was free from the Dark.

Later, they wandered back into the Astronomy Tower.

Ciaran heard an unfamiliar female’s voice yelling at him in outrage as he let Bran top him, kissing his way down Ciaran’s neck.

Ciaran shrugged off the odd intrusion. He figured it was Morgana shouting from beyond the grave, doing her best to disguise her voice.

Ciaran couldn’t be bothered with it especially when Bran was so good at diverting his attention.

~ * ~


	8. Chapter 8

Merlin was grateful that he’d taught Arthur how to use the phone – both the home phone and the mobile. He was walking the streets of downtown New York City, intending to head to Carter’s home when he received a call from Arthur.

“Arthur? Is that you? Are you all right? What about Ciaran?”

“I’m fine!” Arthur let him know. His voice was raised on the phone. Merlin knew that Arthur was still a little puzzled by phone technology, and he apparently felt it was better to speak louder so his voice could be heard through the mouth piece. “I don’t know where Ciaran is. Someone else came. He said he was King Bran of some kingdom in the Star Realm. He said he was a Star, which I’m not sure what that means. He looked human to me. Is that something you’re familiar with?”

“I have to say I’m not an expert on Stars, Arthur. We’re in the same boat,” Merlin admitted. “So did Mordred stop possessing Ciaran then?”

“Yes, I think so. His eyes weren’t black and he didn’t want to kill me. The King got him to free me. And then the King returned me home. I have no idea what happened after that. Ciaran seemed to know this King Bran – his past life at least? Through a dream I believe.”

Merlin sighed. “Yes, I’m thinking Ciaran didn’t have a peaceful sleep while he was sedated. Somehow he ended up interacting with the King’s past life. I’ll come home soon, Arthur.”

“Did you find out how Ciaran’s friend is doing?” Arthur asked him. “I don’t think anyone’s called here.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll call Henry Morgan. You just stay at home.”

“Wait,” Arthur’s voice stopped Merlin from ending the call. The urgency in his tone made Merlin nervous. “I should tell you that Mordred killed Morgana. Or let her past life kill her, I think. So she won’t be a problem now. I can’t say I’m disappointed my ‘reunion’ with my half-sister’s incarnation was brief.”

Merlin felt relieved at that news. “That’s great to hear.”

Not long after Merlin hung up on Arthur, he decided to call Henry.

“How are you, Henry? How’s Carter?”

“Hello, Merlin. Carter is recovering. The strangest thing happened. A bag of packed red blood cells was left in Carter’s room. It was in a cooler, and the blood was a match to Carter’s. I had my doubts about using it because the blood’s source remains a mystery. Yet I had no better alternative. And if the blood was compatible, I had to believe it would work out. Fortunately I appear to have made the right decision. Carter’s hemoglobin count is back to normal range and he physically looks better overall. He’s resting at the moment, but I shall continue to monitor him.”

“I can come by there with Arthur. I’m sure you want to see your son at the hospital.”

“If you’re willing. Thank you, Merlin.”

“Not a problem.”

Merlin took a deep breath and exhaled. He put his hand against a building, leaning against it. He couldn’t scarcely believe that everything seemed to have worked out.

Ciaran probably would give him the silent treatment, but finding that Carter would recover would certainly help Ciaran’s mood, just as it did Merlin’s.

~ * ~

Bran took Ciaran into a separate room to take him back home to his reality. The closet-sized room was attached to Bran’s bigger bedroom, accessible through an open doorway. Bran told him he used it as a private space to read and relax. Sometimes he would play harp. Ciaran saw a handheld harp propped up against the wall, and a bigger standing one beside the room’s two tall windows. A chair was stationed beside the big harp.

“How are you with the harp?” Ciaran asked him.

“I was better at it in my past life,” Bran confessed. “But I’m satisfied with my current level of proficiency. More than anything, it’s nice to have the instrument as a reminder of the mother I never got to know.”

Bran gave a sad smile, and sat down beside the standing harp. His fingers thrummed through the strings of the instrument. A sweet melody came out of the harp, and Ciaran realized he’d never heard the harp played alone like this before. Or perhaps it was just a different experience with Bran playing it.

“I think you’re underestimating your talent,” Ciaran said.

“Funny thing to say to a king. That I’d underestimate myself,” Bran retorted, his mouth twisting into an amused smile.

“I had to say it. I’m glad to hear you play. It’s unfortunate your mother was never able to see you play the harp.”

“Thank you.” Bran said, his tone somber.

He stopped playing. He stood up and then turned toward Ciaran. “I suppose it’s time you returned home. I don’t want to keep you longer.”

When Bran was about to reach out to grasp Ciaran’s hand, Ciaran saw Bran’s sword – Eirias – fly out of its sheath.

Ciaran whipped his head around, seeing who was behind the sword stealing.

It was a hooded figure cloaked in black. Ciaran couldn’t discern the stranger’s face as it was concealed by a dark shadow.

The cloaked figure, now holding Eirias in one hand, aimed it at Bran.

Ciaran immediately shielded Bran, knocking him down to the ground to keep him safe. In the rush of fear and adrenaline, Ciaran forgot to call on his magic.

The sword was thrown in his direction and pierced Ciaran in the chest. Ciaran fell to the ground, the sword stuck in his chest, and the only thing preventing uncontrollable bleeding. For now, the blood flow was slow and gradual. Despite that, Ciaran felt lightheaded from the blood loss.

He had to bite down on his tongue hard to stop from screaming out.

“You are on the wrong side, Ciaran!”

It sounded like Morgana’s voice. But how? Was she a ghost?

Bran stood up and straightened, his voice commanding as he spoke, every inch the King. “You have failed. If you dare come here again, I will make sure you are punished.”

Her face still hidden, the figure abruptly vanished.

“Why did you let her go?” Ciaran asked him.

Bran sat down beside Ciaran who was lying flat on his back. He moved Ciaran’s head so that it rested in his lap instead of on the hard floor.

Bran sighed. “If it was Morgana, then she’s simply a very unsettled ghost. Transitioning to being a ghost is not easy. I thought it best to leave her be. She was only frustrated.”

“Even if she wasn’t dead, Morgana would still love the chance to hurt you.”

“Well, I guess I know to expect her,” Bran reasoned. “Now hold still, I’m going to remove Eirias. Don’t worry. I put a spell on my sword so that it can only kill when it’s in my possession. But it appears I also need to prevent it from being taken by ghosts.”

“And find better guards to stop any ghost from wandering into your room,” Ciaran added, smiling at him. The smile came out more as a grimace as the throbbing pain annoyingly reminded him of its presence.

Bran frowned. “Yes, that too. I apologize. I didn’t want you to get hurt since you are my guest here.”

Slowly but with a steady hand, Bran lifted the sword and removed it from Ciaran’s chest.

Ciaran couldn’t stop from exclaiming out as the harsh, sudden pain of the removal hit him like a ton of bricks.

“Fuck,” he breathed out.

“Sorry,” Bran murmured.

Ciaran gripped his hand, perhaps a little too tightly. But Bran didn’t pull his hand away.

Without the sword there to stop it, the blood began to well from the wound, which then spread quickly over Ciaran’s chest.

“I can heal you. Just hold on. Stay awake, Ciaran.”

Bran put his free hand over the stab wound. A swirl of white light with tiny stars came from his hand and poured into the bloody gash.

“Bran…that could have been me. Not Morgana. I could kill you one day. I almost did back there in the dungeon. I could have choked you to death. We can’t ignore the facts, our roles…” Ciaran was very intent on getting his point across. Maybe it was the pain and blood loss making him especially anxious. But he just couldn’t keep quiet about this.

“Don’t think like that, Ciaran,” Bran said sharply.

He concentrated on finishing his healing of Ciaran’s wound. The blood had vanished as the wound closed, and even Ciaran’s shirt was left undamaged, as if he hadn’t been stabbed at all. “I have faith in you, all right? Now you must believe in yourself. Destiny may be against us, but I don’t care. I want to be with you, Ciaran. What matters is how we feel about one another. Not the roles we were put in by forces more powerful than us. So what if in another life, I was the legitimate son of King Arthur, and you were another King Arthur’s murderer . Those are just labels. We shouldn’t let them consume us and drive us apart. I’ve grown to care for you, Ciaran. And one of my biggest regrets in my past life was not having more time with you. I want that now. I think you feel the same way.”

Ciaran sat up, extricating himself from Bran.

“Yes, I do. I’m just… afraid,” Ciaran admitted.

Bran put his hand on Ciaran’s face and kissed him softly on the lips. “I am a little too, so you’re not alone.”

Ciaran breathed out. He calmed his mind, trying to relax. Somehow Bran’s speech was getting through to him.

Ciaran had hope, and for now, he clung to it, drawing strength from it, and even more so from Bran’s presence.

~ * ~

When Merlin saw Ciaran return home, he was torn between embracing his son and asking him if he was all right, or remaining wary of him in case Mordred suddenly decided to possess him once again.

“Ciaran.”

Ciaran just gave him a blank look, revealing little to Merlin about his frame of mind.

“How are you doing, son?” Merlin ventured.

Ciaran gave a tight smile, rubbing at his other arm, not quite able to hide his present anxiety. He directed his gaze to the floor, avoiding Merlin’s eyes focused on him. “Not bad. Almost got killed by Morgana’s ghost. But luckily I had a good healer.”

Merlin’s eyes widened. He didn’t hesitate to reach out to Ciaran and wrap his arms around him in a solid embrace.

“I’m glad you’ve returned and Morgana’s ghost didn’t succeed,” Merlin told him honestly.

Ciaran frowned. He accepted the hug for a moment, but he shied away from Merlin, stepping back from him.

“Really?” Ciaran asked him in a whisper. “Where’s Arthur Pendragon? I know the minute he appears, the choice is not one at all for you. You won’t care about my well-being. I’m sure you wish I hadn’t come back. That someone had managed to kill me.”

“Ciaran, I’m sorry you feel that way. This whole ordeal has tested all of us. I care for you and for Arthur. This has been difficult for me as I’m certain it’s been for you. But know that I love you and you will never stop being my son. No matter who you were in your past life,” Merlin confided in him, trying to convey his sincerity as best as he could.

Ciaran still looked doubtful. “All right. I just wish you hadn’t hidden the truth of who I was for so long. But I understand why you did it. It was a burden to know and you didn’t want to force that on me. And damn it, even having my memories as Mordred, I wish I could forget. But I have no choice now.” Shaking his head, Ciaran let out a weak laugh. “Whatever. I’ll learn to live with this. I think I’ll stay with Carter for the rest of the summer at least. You don’t have to worry about me being in close quarters with someone I killed another lifetime ago.”

“Ciaran… you don’t have to do that. But perhaps it will be the best thing to do for all our sakes,” Merlin reluctantly agreed.

Ciaran smiled, nodding at him. This time, he initiated the hug.

For now, Merlin was satisfied with the small positive step they had made.

Ciaran went to pack his things. He let Merlin know that he’d go over to Carter’s when he was done packing.

Merlin headed to his room where Arthur was sitting on the edge of his bed reading a book.

“Ciaran’s back. He’s decided to room with Carter for the rest of the summer. He’ll be heading over there today.”

“So we shouldn’t go then?” Arthur figured.

Merlin nodded. “Your presence will only agitate Ciaran. This will work out better. He can relieve Henry Morgan so he can go check on his son in the hospital. And I’m sure Carter would be glad to see his friend.”

“Good. I agree with you.”

He noticed Arthur seemed half-distracted by the book he was perusing.

“That’s the book that will lead you to Excalibur?” Merlin asked. He sat down beside Arthur.

Arthur looked up at him. “Yes. Some of these clues aren’t the easiest to unravel.”

“Well, we will have to work together then. Two heads are better than one.”

“If you insist,” Arthur shot back at him with a wry grin.

Merlin kissed him on the mouth in answer.

~ * ~

Ciaran entered Carter’s penthouse to find that his friend in the midst of a coughing fit.

“Hey,” Carter managed to say, letting him in.

Ciaran knew right away that he was ill. He was still looking as pale as Ciaran saw him last. Carter clung to a handkerchief in his hand, putting it over his mouth when he coughed. A big blanket was settled over his shoulders.

Ciaran noticed it was the blanket Carter’s aunt had given him for his birthday a few years ago. It was the Gandalf blanket with that moment from “The Fellowship of the Ring” when he said: You Shall Not Pass. Those words were emblazoned below the unyielding wizard.

Carter appeared to be doing his best to decrease his coughing to no avail.

“What the hell, man?” Ciaran said, frowning. “I thought you would be recovering. You got that blood transfusion?”

Carter shrugged. He practically collapsed on the couch in the living room.

Ciaran saw that Carter’s past life, James, was sitting in a chair just to the right of the couch. He was reading a newspaper. Setting it down, James spoke up.

“He was recovering from the anemia,” he told Ciaran. “This is his recurrent pneumonia.” James said, sounding sad about it.

Carter gave his past life a sharp look.

“Yeah, the transfusion worked. Still don’t know whose blood it was, but I’m just glad I survived that. I felt terrible. And I won’t allow you to feel guilty about the pneumonia,” Carter directed at James.

Ciaran sat down beside Carter on the couch.

“You told Henry Morgan to leave? Convenient timing there.”

“I tried my best to hide the coughing. It was just beginning, so I was able to make it work. You know me. Too long with a doctor around and I feel I’ll never be well again. I had to get Henry Morgan to leave. And I knew he wanted to see his son. Fortunately my past life was on the same wavelength as me.”

“I knew how you felt about doctors. And I could see Henry was anxious to leave no matter how he attempted to conceal that.”

“Well at least having a past life is working out for you a lot more than for me,” Ciaran remarked. He was unable to hide the frustration in his voice.

Carter peered over at him. “You all right? What happened with you when you left?”

“It’s… complicated,” Ciaran answered, sounding sheepish, but honestly, he wasn’t ready to go into what he’d been through the last few hours.

“I predicted you’d say that,” Carter said. “I made a doctor’s appointment for tomorrow morning. Hopefully he’ll prescribe me the antibiotics I need. I’m not having breathing issues…yet at least. I have an inhaler in case.”

He pointed at the coffee table where the inhaler was.

“I can drive you to the doctor’s office.”

Carter looked over at him. “With your non-existent car?”

“I can take yours.” Ciaran said easily, flashing him a smile.

“Right.” Carter rolled his eyes.

“And I should let you know that I’m planning on staying with you till school starts up. Is that okay?”

“Your Dad still has a problem with your past life?” Carter concluded.

“Yeah, something like that. And with Arthur Pendragon around, I need to keep my distance from them.”

“All right. Sure. I found out some more on Lily -- ” But Carter had to pause when another coughing episode seized him.

 (Reference image: Lily)

Ciaran rubbed his back while he coughed.

Carter swore after the coughing subsided. “Yeah…found some info at the Yale library. She ended up having seven children, but the youngest died as a baby. And her half-brother Rilian helped to raise them. As Lily seemed to be a free spirit and never had a husband. Strong chance--”

“That not all her children shared the same biological father.”

Carter nodded. “Yeah. Hole in one.”

“How did you even know where to start looking?” Ciaran was curious to find out.

“I remember my mother talking about her ancestors, especially in the 19th century, being ‘mystical.’ I think that was her polite way of saying they were witches. Which leads to some not so great associations. But they lived in the UK… in England, Ireland, Scotland, and even Wales I think. One of Lily’s great-granddaughters traveled to the US, to New York City to start a new life. By the time that great-granddaughter was born, the magic within each of them was weakening. So this ancestor of mine…Rosemary was her name…chose to put magic behind her. She barely had any either way. And she decided to turn to Christianity upon settling down in the city. Rosemary didn’t want people looking at her strange for being a pagan and practicing Wiccan rituals.”

“Your mother told you all this? If the magic bit was in some book at the Yale library, then I have to see that for myself.”

“Yeah. She did,” Carter said, his voice tinged with sorrow.

Ciaran imagined that now especially, Carter would have appreciated having his mother alive and able to tell him more about his family history.

Carter continued on. “I always thought the magic addition was her attempt at making her family sound more interesting. Because magic being real? Seriously? Well, now I realize how blind I was.”

“You were being logical. And like everyone else really in this world,” Ciaran assured him. “But at least you can learn more about your family’s past now that you know the truth.”

“But there is one thing I couldn’t find. Who Lily’s parents were, and her half-brother’s too. I’m not sure if they shared a mother or a father. The history begins when they are grown and their parents are only mentioned in the vaguest terms.”

“You think it’s a cover-up?”

Carter shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe with your help, I can figure out that part of the puzzle.”

“Definitely. I’m there,” Ciaran agreed.

He really could use a solid mystery to solve now. It was the perfect distraction from thinking about having to live with his irritating past life. The one relief now was that Mordred was remaining quiet and not making another play at possessing him.

Ciaran took that as a small victory.

“Hey, Carter.”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for, you know, sticking with me considering the elephant…” Ciaran ventured uncertainly.

“Sure. No need to thank me. What are friends for but to bail you out of a drunken night at a gay nightclub?”

“You know the point of the elephant in the room is not to bring it up,” he shot back.

Carter appeared mildly apologetic. Ciaran stood up.

“Where are you going?” Carter asked him.

“To get a thermometer. I need to know if you have a fever.”

“I am feeling a little warm,” Carter admitted.

Ciaran walked over to the kitchen where he knew the thermometer was kept. He saw it lying on the counter. So it looked like Carter had recently used it.

He almost jumped when he saw Mordred sitting at the kitchen table. He was reading “The Mists of Avalon”, and Ciaran was surprised he hadn’t skipped to the end to revel in King Arthur’s death scene.

Mordred didn’t say a word, but he did look up when Ciaran entered.

Ciaran refused to speak to the ghost. He was still upset with his past life and he didn’t want to get knee-deep into an argument with him. A fight was something he was sure would happen. And with Carter being ill, the last thing his friend needed to hear was Ciaran yelling at Mordred.

He noticed that Mordred turned to the latter half of the book not long after he’d thought of Mordred reading about King Arthur’s death.

Ciaran remained tight-lipped, not taking the bait. Mordred just couldn’t resist reminding him that he could read Ciaran’s mind.

He was about to grab the thermometer, not wanting to spend any more time alone with Mordred, when to Ciaran’s surprise, Mordred disappeared, most likely heading to a different room.

Hearing Carter coughing from the other room, Ciaran decided to make him some tea with lemon and honey. As he waited for the water in the kettle to boil, he studied the ring Bran had given him before Ciaran left.

_“This ring should protect you from the Dark possessing you. As long as you keep it on,” Bran told him._

_Ciaran nodded. “Why a ring? A ring can have many meanings…” he ventured. He intended to tease Bran a little._

_Bran sighed, sounding put-upon but a smile grew as he took the teasing in stride. “Because a necklace didn’t seem to suit you. Unless you prefer one?” He offered._

_“No, no. The ring is all right. Perfect,” Ciaran was quick to say._

_“No one but you and I will see the ring. So you don’t have to worry about questions regarding its presence.”_

_Ciaran looked down at the simple silver-banded ring with the white jewel in the center. The jewel seemed more like a small piece of starlight as it twinkled instead of giving off a shine._

_“Is this real starlight?” He asked Bran. Ciaran raised the hand where the ring was on his index finger._

_Bran shook his head. “No, it’s only made to look that way. It’s common here to have faux starlight jewelry. But what truly matters is the magic inside the ring, the magic meant to protect you from the Dark taking you against your will.”_

_“All right. Well then, I have to thank you,” Ciaran said, smiling at him._

_Bran nodded. “I suppose you should.”_

_Ciaran took his face in his hands and pressed his lips to Bran’s, kissing him soundly. One hand wandered up into Bran’s white hair. Looking at his tawny-golden eyes was like seeing drops of sunlight in the midst of the whitest cloud._

_He knew that he could never forget Bran. Someone like Bran couldn’t be easily dismissed. It just wasn’t possible._

The kettle eliciting a high-pitched whistle brought Ciaran back to the present. He quickly got the tea prepared and set it on a tray along with a plate of crackers and the thermometer.

Heading to the couch, Ciaran set down the tray in front of Carter.

“Hey, sorry I took longer than expected. I thought you’d want some tea.”

Ciaran had to wait a few moments as Carter was stuck in one of his coughing fits.

“Thanks,” Carter said quietly, his voice a little hoarse. “Where are my flowers?” Carter joked.

“Shut up,” Ciaran shot back smoothly. “You want to check your temperature?” He offered, waving the thermometer.

Carter shook his head. He put his hand over his forehead. “I think I’m okay on that front. Not feeling as warm as before. Just hoping the coughing goes away.”

Ciaran noticed Mordred sitting at the window seat still immersed in “The Mists of Avalon.” He looked at Ciaran briefly, his lips quirking into what may have turned into a smile, but he dropped eye contact before anything could come of it.

Ciaran was perfectly all right with the silent treatment continuing.

“We could do a movie marathon? I don’t want to go to sleep. I don’t know if I’ll get any either way. I always wake up multiple times to cough when I have pneumonia.”

“Yeah, I know. Want me to get you cough syrup?” Ciaran suggested. He was already planning on returning to the kitchen.

But Carter turned him down. “No, man. Just sit down. I’ll drink this tea.”

Ciaran acquiesced. “So what do you want to marathon?”

“Harry Potter. Unless that would be kind of weird? You know with you having magic.”

“And you having a magical ancestor whose name is Lily and who happened to be a redhead,” Ciaran reminded him.

Carter grinned. “So that’s a yes?”

“Definitely.”

Seeing Carter’s past life and his own both in the living room with them, Ciaran couldn’t help but wonder about interaction between the pair.

Could their past lives have talked with one another at some point, before they were aware of being incarnations? Perhaps during all those times he and Carter had hung out together?

As Ciaran got out the Blu-Ray for the first film, he asked Carter, “Do you think our past lives speak to one another? Or have done so long before making their existences known to us?”

“Good question,” Carter said. He looked over at his past life who was now reading some hardcover gold-leaf book in his chair. “Hey, James. Do you talk to Mordred?”

Ciaran turned to see if Mordred was paying them and their conversation any attention. But no, he wasn’t. Yet Ciaran didn’t doubt that he was listening to every word of it even as he made it appear as though he were fully engaged in his book.

James shrugged. “Every so often. He has some interesting stories. Since you two spend so much time together, I’ve had no choice but to get to know him. We can’t stray too far from our incarnations after all. But Mordred’s all right,” he concluded, his tone one of sincerity.

Ciaran looked over at Mordred and he didn’t miss the smile growing on his face as he still intently had his nose in the book. Ciaran was sure the smile had nothing to do with the book’s contents.

“That must be nice to hear,” Carter said to him.

Ciaran nodded. He inserted the disc into the Blu-Ray player. “Yeah. I can imagine an early 20th century doctor and a medieval Druid turned knight have a lot to talk about. Common interests and all.”

Carter let out a chuckle at that, a few coughs escaping as a result.

“Good one,” Carter acknowledged. He gave him a thumbs up.

Ciaran smiled. “Thanks.”

As they settled in for a long night of movies, Ciaran’s gaze wandered to the faux starlight ring on his finger. Every time he looked at that ring, it was hard not to think about Bran. He let out a small sigh, considering his predicament.

Being with Bran had been unforgettable, and a small part of him had wanted to stay with Bran in Midsummer permanently.

But rationally he knew there was no real place for him in Bran’s kingdom. Whereas here with Carter: this was familiar, this was comforting.

This was where he belonged.

~ * ~

In his son Abe’s hospital room, Henry Morgan woke up with a start. He saw a swirl of twinkling starlight manifest as if out of thin air. It surrounded his son until it seemed that a glow was coming from inside him and pulsating over his skin.

Henry couldn’t believe his eyes and he wondered if he was still asleep.

A young man appeared in the room. He shared a remarkable resemblance with Pip, the Star who had given Henry his immortality. His brown hair curled a little midway down his neck and though his eyes were brown in color, they still seemed to glow with an internal light. He wore a long deep blue tunic with a belt tied at the waist along with dark pants and brown boots. Celtic-looking runes and symbols in a glowing golden color lined the hems of both sleeves and at the bottom of his tunic.

“Are you Pip?”

He nodded.

“I thought you died.” Henry said.

“Yes, but I will still always be a part of you. You keep me alive in a way, just as I prolonged your life. I apologize if it has caused you trouble.”

Henry waved his hand. “No, you don’t need to apologize. I have had my hardships, true, but my long life has brought me joys I wouldn’t have had otherwise. So I am glad I can thank you for allowing me to have that opportunity.”

Pip smiled.

“Is the starlight your doing? Will this heal my son?” Henry asked.

Cryptically, Pip answered, “Your son will live as long as there are people who love him.”

Then Pip vanished, but Henry still felt his presence within him like a second beating heart.

The starlit glow subsided and grasping his son’s hand, Henry waited with bated breath.

Slowly, his son’s eyes opened.

“Hey, Dad,” Abe whispered to him.

Henry smiled. Reasonably, he knew that his son wouldn’t live forever, that Abe would die one day. But he was grateful for Pip sparing him from the inevitable for the time being.

He didn’t think he’d look the same way at the stars again. If anything, they gave him more hope.

~ * ~

At dawn, Merlin was woken up by Arthur shaking his shoulder.

Still groggy, Merlin rubbed at his eyes. “Arthur? What is it?”

Arthur looked restless as he swept his hand through his hair.

“It’s the quest for Excalibur. What if I’m meant to do it alone? Maybe I can’t have you involved. I don’t want you getting hurt because I couldn’t manage to do this quest on my own. That I didn’t follow some set of rules.”

Merlin recalled Freya mentioning that only Arthur could decipher the clues that would lead him to Excalibur.

But to Merlin, it would always be him and Arthur. He couldn’t imagine letting Arthur go off on his own without his protection.

“I wouldn’t be able to sleep at night knowing you’re searching for Excalibur on your own. Let me be there to support you at least. Even if I can’t help you with the clues, I can protect you. And you know I’m immortal, Arthur. You don’t have to worry about me getting hurt. That shouldn’t even be a point of discussion.”

Arthur sighed, and he looked down at his hands. He seemed to be in the midst of an internal battle.

“What?” Merlin asked him when Arthur returned his attention back to him, his blue eyes looking uncertain.

“That quest for the trident of the Fisher King… I was meant to do that without help. But you helped me, and you must have used magic too to protect me.”

“Ah, is your pride stung?” Merlin teased him. “I admit to it, yes. I apologize that you didn’t do it on your own as you wanted. But I guess I have a problem…” he trailed off, his lips twisting into a wide smile.

Arthur raised his brow. “What is that?”

“Unable to stop protecting your backside. You just have to live with my problem, Your Majesty,” Merlin finished solemnly.

Arthur threw a pillow at his face, but it scarcely muffled Merlin’s laughter.

Arthur moved to kiss him, Merlin’s laughter subsiding as he concentrated on Arthur.

**~ * ~ The End ~ * ~**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prophecy involving Ciaran and Bran is still a possibility. I wanted to leave a small sense of impending doom at the end... but still have an overall hopeful ending. The question is will Fate win out and will Ciaran kill Bran in the future? He did almost succeed in doing so in this story. 
> 
> I thought that when Ciaran discovers Merlin being Lily's father (since he agreed to help Carter look into the mystery), he won't take that too well... especially if he sees his friendship with Carter as something Merlin had been behind and ensured would continue. That Ciaran's friendship with him wasn't by his own design, but "manipulated" by Merlin for his own reasons. I could see all that putting Ciaran in a dark place. Not to mention if he finds out about his family history involving a sexual assault... that he wouldn't have been born if that one terrible event hadn't happened in the 19th century.
> 
> Bran, in his incarnation as a Star and King of Midsummer, was aware of the prophecy involving the female Star and her descendant, Ciaran, playing out her hope for revenge (for sentencing her to death) by killing Bran. So it took some courage on Bran's part to return to see Ciaran in that dungeon. But I guess Bran didn't want to believe Fate would win out... he has hope that Ciaran can defy his destiny/prophecy. After all, he did manage to stop himself from killing Bran.
> 
> **Regarding the reference images:**  
>  From the beginning, I had planned on Carter resembling Andrew Mientus (who's played Hartley Rathaway/Pied Piper on "The Flash"... I'm excited to see him in the new upcoming season).
> 
> Also, Lily is Demelza Poldark (played by Eleanor Tomlinson) from the period drama series, "Poldark." She was a last minute dreamcast, but I thought she would fit the role best. Demelza lives during the late 18th century, so the time period is off by a few decades (Lily's more early 19th century), but still close enough. Demelza's my favorite redhead of the moment (the new season of Poldark airing now reminded me how much I missed the show). I thought of having a scene or two with Lily, but it didn't work out. I liked the idea of her, and I can imagine Merlin having a redheaded daughter.


End file.
